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T«l. 4, No. 183. Aug. 28, 1883. Annual Subscription, $30.00. 


AUTIFUL 

WRETCH 


Author or “ Shandon Bells,” “ Yolande,” Etc. 


itered at the Post Office, N. Y., as second-class matter. 
Copyright, 1883, by John W. Lovell Co. 


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mIoTHBINDn5^oMhNi vtluma «n a .Matoed from any bookseller or newsdealer, price I Sets. 




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LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 

CATALOGUE. 


1. Hyperion, by H. W. Longfellow. . .20 
.2. Outre-Her, by H. W. Longfellow. . .20 

3. The Happy Boy, by Bjbrnson 10 

4. Arne, by Bjornson 10 

5. Frankenstein; or. the Modern Pro- 

metheus, by Mrs. Shelley 10 

G. The Last of the Mohicans, by J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

7. Clytie, by Joseph Hatton.. 20 

8. The Moonstone, by Collins, P’t I. .10 

9. The Moonstone, by Collins, P’t II. 10 

10. Oliver Twist, by Charles Dickens. 20 

11. The Coming Race, by Lytton 10 

12. Leila, by Lord Lytton 10 

13. The Three Spaniards, by Walker.. 2U 

14. The Tricks of the Greeks Unveiled; 

or, the Art of Winning at every 
Game, by Robert Houdin 20 

15. L’Abb6 Constantin, by Haldvy..20 

10. Freckles, by R. F. Redcliif 20 

17. The Dark Colleen, by Harriett Jay .20 
lb. They Were Married ! by Walter Be- 

sant and James Rice 10 

19. Seekers after God, by Canon Farrar. 20 

20. The Spanish Nun, by Thos. De 

Quincey 10 

21. The Green Mountain Boys, by 

Judge D. P. Thompson 20 

22. Fleurette, by Eugene Scribe 20 

23. Second Thoughts, by Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

24. The New Magdalen, by Wilkie 

Collins 20 

25. Divorce, by Margaret Lee 20 

20. Life of Washington, by Henley.. 20 

27. Social Etiquette, by Mrs. W. A. 

Saville 15 

28. Single Heart and Double Face, by 

Charles Reade 10 

29. Irene, by Carl Dctlef 20 

30. YiceYersS,; or, a Lesson to Fathers, 

by F. Anstey 20 

31. Ernest Maltravers, by Lord Lytton .20 

32. The Haunted House and Calderon 

the Courtier, by Lord Lytton... 10 

33. John Halifax, by Miss Mulock...,20 

34. 800 Leagues on the Amazon, being 

Part I of the Giant Raft, by 
Jules Verne 10 

35. The Cryptogram, being Part II of 

the Giant Raft, by Jules Verne.. 10 

36. Lifeof Marion, by Horry andWeems. 20 

87. Paul and Virginia 10 

38. Tale of Two Cities, by Dickens 20 


39. The Hermits, by Kingsley 20 

40. An Adventure in Thule, and Mar- 

riage of Moira Fergus, by Wm. 
Black 10 

41. A Marriage in High Life, by Octave 

Feuillet 20 

42. Robin, by Mrs. Parr 20 

43. Two on a Tower, by Thomas Hardy. 20 

44. Rasselas, by Samuel Johnson 10 


45. Alice, or, the Mysteries, being Part 


II of Ernest Maltravers .20 

46. Duke of Kandos, by A. Matthey .. .20 

47. Baron Munchausen..... 10 I 

48. A Princess of Thule, by Wm. Black. 20 I 

49. The Secret Despatch, by Grant.... 20 } 

£0. Early Days of Christianity, by Can- 
on Farrar, D,D., Part 1 20 

Early Days of Christianity, by Can- 
on Farrar, D.D., Part II ...20 

51. Vicar of Wakefield, by Oliver Gold- 

smith 10 

52. Progress and Poverty, by Henry 

George 20 


53. The Spy, by J. Fenimore Cooper. . . 20 

54. East Lynne, by Mrs. Henry Wood.20 

55. A Strange Story, by Lord Lytton.. 20 

56. Adam Bede, by Geo. Eliot, Part I. .15 
Adam Bede, by Geo. Eliot, Part II. .15 

57. The Golden Shaft, by Gibbon. 20 

58. Portia, or, By Passions Rocked, by 

The Duchess 20 

59. Last Days of Pompeii, by Lytton. 20 

60. The Two Duchesses, being the se- 

quel to the Duke of Kandos, by 
A. Mathey 20 

61. Tom Brown’s School Days at Rug- , 

by 20 

62. TlieWooing O’t, by Mrs. Alexander, ( \j 

Part I 15 ) 

TheWooing O’t, by Mrs. Alexander, 

Part II..... t 15 

63. The Vendetta, Tales of Love and 

Passion, by Honore de Balzac.. 20 

64. Hypatia, by Rev. Kingsley, Part I. .15 
Hypatia, by Kingsley, Part II. ...15 

65. Selma, by Mrs. J. Gregory Smith. .15 

66. Margaret and her Bridesmaids. .. 20 

67.. Horse Shoe Robinson, Parti 15 

Horse Shoe Robinson, Part II 15 

68. Gulliver’s Travels, by Dean Swift.. 20 

69. Amos Barton, by George Eliot 10 

70. The Berber, by W. E. Mayo 20 

71. Silas Marner, by George Eliot.... 10 

72. The Queen of the County 20 

73. Life of Cromwell, by Paxton Hood. .15 

74. Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bront6...20 

75. Child’s History of England, by 

Charles Dickens 20 

76. Molly Bawn, by The Duchess 20 

77. Pillone, by William Bergsoe 15 

78. Phyllis, by the Duchess. 20 

79. Romola, by George Eliot, Part I... 15 
Romola, by George Eliot, Part II. .15 

80. Science in Short Chapters 20 

81. Zanoni, by Lord Lytton 20 

82. A Daughter of Heth, by W. Black . 20 

83. The Right and Wrong Uses of the 

Bible, by Rev. R. Heber Newton. 20 

84. Night and Morning, by Lord Lytton 

Part 1 15 

Night and Morning, by Lord Lytton 
Part II 15 


THE BEAUTIFUL WRETCH 


BY , 

WILLIAM BLACK, 

• i 

AUTHOR OF 

“MADCAP VIOLET,” “PRINCESS OF THULE,’ “STRANGE 
ADVENTURES OF A PHOTON,” ETC., ETC. 



NEW YORK: 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

14 and 16 Vesey Street. 


























































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CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. SINGING SAL I 

II. IN BRUNSWICK TERRACE IO 

III. A FIRST BALL 19 

IV. THE SAME 29 

V. THE SAME 35 

VI. FIRST IMPRESSIONS 44 

VII. AUF DER REISE 53 

VIII. SNOW AND MIST AND SUNLIGHT 64 

IX. THE SERENATA 7 2 

X. JINNY 8l 

XI. TRANSFORMATION 91 

XII. NEW POSSIBILITIES IOI 

XIII. ORMUZD AND AHRIMAN IIO 

XIV. AT HOME 120 

XV. A MESSAGE I30 

XVI. REVERIES I40 

XVII. THE ACCEPTED SUITOR 1 50 

XVIII. A WHITE WORLD l6l 

XIX. BREAKING DOWN 172 

XX. THE SHADOW 182 

XXI. DANGER AHEAD I92 

XXII. A CATASTROPHE 202 

XXIII. AT LAST 213 

XXIV. “BRING HOME THE BRIDE SO FAIR!” 223 




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THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH 


CHAPTER I. 

SINGING SAL. 

On a certain golden afternoon in August, when the 
sea was as still and radiant as the vaulted blue over- 
head, and when the earth was lying so hushed and si- 
lent that you would have thought it was listening for 
the chirp of the small birds among the gorse, a young 
girl of about seventeen or so was walking over the 
downs that undulate, wave on wave, from Newhaven 
all along the coast to Brighton. This young lady was 
tall for her age, slim of form, and she had a graceful 
carriage ; her face was fair and markedly freckled ; her 
nose was piquant rather than classical ; her hair, which 
was of a ruddy gold hue, was rebellious, and strayed 
about her ears and neck in accidental wisps and rings ; 
her grayish or gray-blue eyes were reserved and 
thoughtful rather than shrewd and observant. No, 
she was not beautiful ; but she had a face that attracted 
interest, and though her .look was timid and retiring, 
nevertheless her eyes could, on occasion, light up with 
a sudden humor that was inclined to be sarcastic. So 
busy, indeed, was she generally, on these solitary wan- 
derings of hers, with her own thoughts and fancies, 
that sometimes she laughed to herself — a low, quiet 
little laugh that none but herself could hear. 


Til A T BRA UT1FUL WRE TCH. 


This was Miss Anne Beresford, who was called by 
her sisters Nan. But it was an old friend of the fam- 
ily, and one of England’s most famous sailors, who, at 
a very early period of her career, had bestowed on her 
the sobriquet of the Beautiful Wretch ; and that partly 
because she was a pretty and winning child, partly 
because she was in the habit of saying surprisingly 
irreverent things. Now all children say irreverent 
things, simply because they read the highest mysteries 
by the light of their own small experiences; but Nan 
Beresford ’s guesses at the supernatural were more than 
usually audacious. When, for example, she arrived at 
the conclusion that fairies were never seen in the day- 
time for the reason that God had had them all “ fwied 
for his bweakfast,” it was clear that she was bringing 
a quite independent mind to bear on the phenomena 
of the universe around her. And then, jof course, all 
sorts of sayings that she never uttered or thought of 
were attributed to her. Whenever a story was par- 
ticulaly wicked, it was sure to be put down to Nan' 
Beresford. The old admiral who had at the outset 
given her that nickname, spent a great deal of time 
that might have been profitably employed otherwise 
in deliberately inventing impieties, each of which was 
bruited about in certain circles as “ Nan’s last” ; and 
if you happened to meet him anywhere between the 
United Service Club and Spring Gardens, completely 
self-absorbed, his face brimming over with laughter, 
you might be sure he was just putting on a finishing 
touch. Rather than abandon one of these self-invented 
stories of his, I think he would have parted with any 
half-dozen of his crosses and medals ; but indeed this 
last would not have been difficult, for he had served in 
every part of the world where a ship would float, and 
honors and dignities had been showered upon him. 


SINGING SAL. 


3 


Naturally there came a time when these stories had to 
cease ; but Nan Beresford preserved her independent 
way of looking at things, and she was clearly the 
clever one of the family. Moreover, with all her retir- 
ing ways, she was always quite capable of holding her 
own. Her elder sisters were handsome, and a good 
many young gentlemen, amongst others, came about 
the house ; some of whom, thinking to be facetious, 
would occasionally begin to tease Miss Nan, she being 
the youngest admitted to lunch or afternoon tea. But 
this shy, freckled young person, whose eyes could 
laugh up so quickly, had a nimbleness of wit and dex- 
terity of fence that usually left her antagonist exceed- 
ingly sorry. One can imagine a gay young swallow 
darting about in the evening, having quite satisfied 
himself as to food, and thinking only in his frolicsome 
way of chevying and frightening the innocent insect 
tribe. But what if, by dire mischance, he should dart 
at something and find he had seized — a wasp ! Some 
of the merry young gentlemen were glad to leave the 
Beautiful Wretch alone. However, all these things 
must now be looked upon as by-gones. Seventeen has 
come ; its dignity and seriousness have followed upon 
the frolics of untutored youth ; and the sweet charm 
of maidenhood has smoothed down such angularities 
as were formerly permissible. If Miss Anne Beresford 
shows her independence now, it is mostly in a sort of 
half-declared contempt of sentimentalities and flirta- 
tions — of which, to be sure, she sees a good deal 
around her. She likes to be alone ; she reads much ; 
she has ideas; she worships Mr. Huxley: and she 
needs no other company than her own when she goes 
off on long explorations of curving shore or inland 
vale. On this particular afternoon, for example, she 
was walking all the way to Brighton from Newhaven, 


4 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


having already walked to the latter place in the morn- 
ing; and as her light and free step carried her over the 
close, warm, thyme-scented turf, she was smiling to her- 
self — at some incident, no doubt, that her memory had 
recalled. 

Well, at this moment some one addressed her. 

“ Young lady ! ” 

She had been vaguely aware that a woman was sit- 
ting there, by the-side-of some furze bushes ; but she 
had kept her eyes away, being a little afraid of tramps. 
On being challenged, however, she turned and looked, 
and then she saw that this was no ordinary tramp, but 
an itinerant musician well known along the south coast 
by the name of Singing Sal. She was a good-looking 
trimly dressed, strapping wench of five-and-twenty, 
with a sun-tanned face, brilliant white teeth when she 
laughed, and big brown eyes that were at once friendly 
and audacious in their scrutiny. She looked, indeed, 
more like a farmer’s daughter dressed for market-day ; 
but on one side of her, on the greensward, lay a guitar, 
and on the other a little leather wallet that she had 
unstrapped. Apparently she had been having a nap 
on this warm afternoon, for she was smoothing down 
her black hair. 

“ I beg your pardon, miss,” she said, with very great 
respect, but with a sort of timidly friendly look in her 
eyes, “ but I have often seen you as you was walking 
along the downs ; and many’s the time I have wished 
to have a word with you, if there was nobody by. 
Yes, and many’s the time I have thought about you." 

;Nan Beresford hesitated for a second whether she 
should stay or not. But she knew this young woman 
very well by sight ; and her appearance and manner 
were alike extremely prepossessing. Nan had heard 
her sing, but never speak ; and she was surprised by 


SINGING SAL. 


5 


the correct way in which she spoke : she had scarcely 
anything of the Sussex intonation. 

“Yes,” said Singing Sal, looking up at the young 
lady, “ many’s the time that I have thought I should 
like to tell you what I’ve been thinking about you, as I 
saw you go by. I’ve often been thinking that if one 
could only see into it, the mind of a young lady like 
you — brought up like you in the middle of nothing but 
kindness and goodness — why, it must be the most 
beautiful thing in the world. Just like that out there 
— clear and silver-like.” 

She nodded in the direction of the sea, where the 
pale blue plain was touched here and there with silver 
and golden reflections. Nan was embarrassed ; never- 
theless she remained. There was something winning 
about the fresh-colored, frank-eyed lass. 

“And I think I have seen a little bit into your 
mind, miss,” said she, with a smile. “ Would you 
look at this — if I may make so bold ? ” 

There was a bit of red silk around her neck, and 
attached to it was a florin. She held up the perforated 
coin, and glanced at the face of the young girl. Nan 
Beresford blushed. 

“You remember, miss? That was the night as I 
was singing in front of the Old Ship, though what I 
did that for I don’t know ; I prefer my own friends 
and my own haunts. But do you know what I said to 
myself, when I got to my lodgings that night ? I said, 
* What was the young lady thinking of when she gave 
you that florin ? It wasn’t an accident, for she took it 
carefully out of her purse. And it wasn’t because she 
thought you were starving, for you don’t look like that. 
No; she gave it to you that you might think it 
enough for one night’s earnings, and go away home, 
and not be stared at any longer by a crowd of men. 


6 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH 


That was what the young lady was thinking in her 
mind ; and if ever you spend that two shillings, Sal, 
you’ll be a mean wretch.’ And many’s the time I 
thought I would like to speak to ye, miss, if only as it 
might be to ask your name.” 

This woman was frank even to boldness in her scru- 
tiny, and her manner was rough and ready; but there 
was a touch of something fine about her — something 
true, downright, unmistakable — that somehow won 
people’s confidence. Nan Beresford drew nearer to 
her, though she remained standing. 

“ Is there anything — ” said Nan ; and then she 
stopped. She was about to ask if there was anything 
she could do for this new acquaintance, but she sud- 
denly reflected that the young woman was smartly 
dressed, and apparently well-to-do. Singing Sal 
quickly broke in on her embarrassment. 

“Yes,” she said, smiling ; “ you don’t like my making 
a show of myself — singing for coppers in the street. 
But isn’t there worse than that among the people you 
live among, miss? Mind, I see life in the rough; I 
can’t always choose my company, and I have to take 
things as they come. But when I hear of very fine 
young ladies — mind, not poor girls driven by starva- 
tion, or forced to support a sick mother, or kicked out 
of doors by a drunken father — and these fine ladies 
going and selling themselves for so many thousands a 
year and a swell carriage — well, it sounds queer, I 
think. But I’m sure, miss,” she said, regarding the 
girl, “ you won’t make a marriage for money. You 
don’t look like that.” 

Again Nan Beresford flushed hastily, and she said, 
with a touch of anger: 

“ I prefer not to speak of such things. I am tired 
of listening to women who can talk of nothing but 


SINGING SAL. 7 

sweethearts and marriage. Surely there are other 
matters of as much importance — ” 

But then it occurred to her that this was scarcely 
civil, so she turned to this pleasant-looking stranger, 
and said, with a grave courtesy, “ I presume you are 
returning to Brighton ? ” 

“ Yes, I am.” 

“To remain there ? ” 

Sal laughed in her quiet way. 

“ Lord love you, my dear young lady, I never saw 
the town yet that could hold me for more than a 
couple o' nights. I live in the open. That is what I 
like best — open sea, open sky, open downs. I do be- 
lieve my forefathers were either gypsies or else they 
had had a good dose o’ the tread-mill, for I’m never 
content but when I’m on the trudge. Wet weather or 
fine, all’s the same to me, but four square walls I can’t 
endure.” 

“ I am afraid you must lead a very solitary life,” 
said Nan, with sincere compassion. 

“ Why, bless you, miss, the world is full of things,” 
said the other, cheerfully, “ and as you tramp along 
there’s always something turning up for you to look 
at. Oh, I’ve plenty of friends too, for the matter of 
that. I bring a bit of news to the farms ; and some- 
times toys for the coast-guardsmen’s children — else 
the women would get jealous ; and I have an eye for 
the mackerel shoals for the fishermen ; and I know 
where the sailors are if there’s any sport going on. 
Yes, I have a good many friends, miss. I can tell you 
it will be a bad business for any one who laid a finger 
on me, anywheres between Dover and Portsmouth : I 
think the word would be passed along pretty quick. 
Not that I can’t take care o’ myself,” added Sal, with 
a modest smile. “ I’m not afraid to be out o’ nights, 


s 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH . i 


when I know where my bed is ; and sometimes I can 
do without that. Why, that is the best of all the 
tramps — a clear moonlight night along these downs ; 
and you have the whole to yourself ; everything and 
everybody asleep, except maybe a watch-dog up at 
one of the farms ; and the ships out at sea — you can 
tell whether they’re going up or down Channel by the 
red or the green light, and you think of the poor chap 
at the helm, and hope he’ll get soon home to his wife 
and children. That is a real fine tramp, miss ; you 
want to sing almost, and yet it’s too beautiful to be 
broken by a sound. And then there’s a fortnight in 
the spring when the birds come over — oh ! that’s won- 
derful. If you start about half past two or a quarter 
to three, you get in amongst them ; and the first thing 
you hear is the whistle, quick and sharp, and yet far 
away, of the curlews. Then you begin to feel that 
they are passing overhead ; you can’t see anything ; it 
is like a whisper filling all the air; the darkness is just 
full of wings — soft and soft ; you’re afraid to put up 
your hand, in case you might hurt some poor creature 
at the end of its long voyage ; and you listen and listen 
as you walk along, waiting for the gray daylight in the 
east to show them where to pick up some food in the 
fields. Ah ! miss, if you only had the courage to rise 
as early as that — ” 

“ Oh, I will ! I will ! ” said Nan,, eagerly, quite for- 
getting what her mother might have to say about this 
strange acquaintance. “ But what has made you take 
to such a way of living? You are very well educated.” 

“You are kind to say so, miss,” remarked Singing 
Sal, who was evidently greatly pleased. “ But it’s lit- 
tle education I ever got, except from two or three 
books I have made companions of, like. I kept my 
father's shop in Tunbridge until he married a second 


SINGING SAL. 


9 


time ; then it grew too hot for me, rather ; and so I 
took to the road, and I’ve never regretted it. Human 
nature is what I like to look at ; and if I make so bold 
as to say it, I guess there’s more human nature among 
the poor folk than among the rich. But I’ll tell you 
about that some other time,” she added, returning to 
her ordinary free-and-easy manner. “ I see you want 
to go. You’ve looked at your watch twice.” 

“But you’re going to Brighton also?” said Nan, 
somewhat timidly. 

“ Not with you, miss,” was the prompt reply. “ No, 
no. But perhaps, if it is not making too free, you will 
be so friendly as to tell me your name ? ” 

“ My name is Anne Beresford, and I live in Bruns- 
wick Terrace,” said Nan. 

“ Thank ye kindly, miss,” said SingingSal, regarding 
the young lady with great friendliness and respect. 
“ Maybe I shall see you some other day on the downs, 
for I think you are as fond of them as I am myself. 
Good-by, miss.” 

She rose, with some sense of natural courtesy. But 
she rather turned away, also, and she kept her hands 
behind her. So Nan bade her good-by in return, and 
continued on her way along the lonely cliffs. 

Some considerable time thereafter, when Nan Beres- 
ford was nearing Brighton, she turned and looked 
behind her; and she could make out, on the summit of 
one of the rounded undulations toward Rottingdean, 
the figure of a woman, whom she at once guessed to 
be Singing Sal. That solitary figure was impressive 
there — high up on the edge of the slope ; the still, 
shining sea far below her, and all around her and 
illuminating her, as it were, the reddening glow flood- 
ing over from the westering sun. Nan — perhaps 


10 


THA T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCH. 


moved by some subtle compunction, perhaps only in 
token of friendly remembrance — took out her hand- 
kerchief and waved it twice ; but there was no re- 
sponse. 


CHAPTER II. 

IN BRUNSWICK TERRACE. 

That same afternoon all Brighton was astir with 
curiosity, because of a large vessel that had slowly 
come in from the west before an almost imperceptible 
breeze. She came unusually, and, as some thought, 
dangerously, close in-shore ; and, no doubt, she looked 
even larger than she really was, for she had every 
stitch of canvas set, from her royals down to her lower 
studding-sails, that stood out on each side like great 
bats’ wings ; while all this mass of sail was dark in 
shadow against the western glow. As the spectators 
watched her, those* among them who knew a little 
about nautical matters guessed that this must be a 
man-of-war, from the rapidity with which she began to 
furl her sails — letting the golden light shine along 
between her spars; while they further concluded, from 
the fact that only a kedge was thrown out at her bows, 
that her stay in these shallow waters would be brief. 

Now we must see how the advent of this stranger 
was regarded by the occupants of a certain drawing- 
room in Brunswick Terrace. These were five — a 
mother, son, and three daughters; and as they will all 
appear, more or less, in the following history, it may 
be as well to introduce them now and categorically to 
the reader. 

First of all came Lady Beresford herself, an elderly, 
sallow-faced, weak-looking woman, the widow of a 


IN BRUNSWICK TERRACE. 


general officer who had got his K C.B.-ship for long 
service in India. She had a nervous system that she 
worshipped as a sort of fetich, and in turn the obliging 
divinity relieved her from many of the cares and 
troubles of this weariful world. For how could she 
submit to any discomfort or privation (the family were 
not very well off for their station in life), or how could 
she receive objectionable visitors, or investigate cases 
of harrowing distress, or remonstrate with careless 
livery-stable keepers, or call to account extortionate 
milliners, when this precious nervous system had to 
be considered? Lady Beresford turned away from 
these things, and ordered round her Bath-chair, and 
was taken out to the end of the Pier, that she might 
be soothed by the music and the sea-air. 

The eldest daughter in this drawing-room (the eldest 
daughter of the family was married and in India) had 
not much nervousness about her. She was a handsome, 
tall, blonde girl of the clear-cut English type, cold and 
even proud in manner, strict in the performance of all 
her duties, and not very charitable in her criticism of 
others. She had a good figure ; she dressed well ; clear 
health shone in her pale fair face and bright cold eyes. 
She was a daring horsewoman. Her brother called her 
“ Nails,” which was a final contraction for “ Old Hard- 
as-Nails.” 

The next sister, Edith, that same graceless youth 
was in the habit of calling “ The Sentimental.” She 
was the darkest of the family, and the most beautiful 
also, where every one was more or less good-looking. 
She had soft brown hair, dark blue-gray eyes of the 
tenderest expression, and a beseeching, innocent look. 
She was fond of music ; played and sang very fairly 
herself ; but she was most admirable as a listener. In 
a room filled with half-murmuring people, she alone 


12 


THA T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCH. 


remained mute and devoted ; her chair drawn close 
to the piano ; her form motionless. It is true, her 
brother boldly attributed Edith’s strict observance 
of this attitude to the fact that she knew she had a 
striking profile, 'and that in no other way could she be 
so well seen by the room. But then there are some 
people who will say anything. 

In point of family order Nan Beresford came next ; 
but, as we have seen, she was at this moment away out 
on the downs, marching briskly, and much pleased 
with herself and the world generally. 

“ The Baby ” was the youngest of the sisters — a 
.pretty child of fifteen ; a trifle spoiled and bad-tempered, 
otherwise characterless enough. So now we must pass 
on to the personage who considered himself of chief 
consequence in the house — Mr. Thomas Beresford, the 
only son, who now stood at the window, thrumming 
on the panes, to the infinite annoyance of his mother. 
He was an exceedingly handsome boy of about eight- 
een, slightly built, tall, and dressed with an elaborate 
precision. The lad was clever enough, and good- 
natured enough, but he had been spoiled all his life 
long — first by his sisters, and then by the men who 
wanted to marry his sisters. He harried and worried 
the whole household indiscriminately, but he was es- 
pecially hard upon Nan. He said Nan had a charac- 
ter that he wished to form. Girls wanted roughing. 
There was far too much flimsiness and fashionability 
about their social circle. In time, he trusted to be 
able to make something out of Nan. 

Well, he was thrumming contemplatively on the 
window-panes, watching this big, dark ship come along 
from the west. 

“ Thomas, I wish you would cease that distressing 
noise,” said his mother, with a plaintive sigh. 


IN BRUNSWICK TERRACE . 


13 


He ceased his thrumming and took to whistling. 

“Tom,” said the musical sister, “ I do wish you 
wouldn’t try to pick up new airs. You can’t do it. 
Why don’t you keep to ‘ Home, Sweet Home,’ or ‘ In a 
Cottage near a Wood — ’ ” 

But, to give effect to this remonstrance, she had 
turned in her chair, in which she was reading, and, in 
so doing, came in sight of the window, and the sea, and 
the new arrival there. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, “what a beautiful large 
yacht ! ” 

The youth at the window shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Well, you are a fool,” he said, politely. 

“ Thank you,” she replied. 

“ I’ll tell you what — it’s a man-o’-war brig,” con- 
tinued he, with an air of importance. “And what’s 
more, I hope the fellow knows where he’s coming to. 
I don’t see them taking any soundings ; and the notion 
of bringing a man-o’-war in here — ” 

He went and got an opera-glass, and returned to the 
window. He would make observations; perhaps, if 
need were, he might put off in a small boat and offer 
to assist in the navigation of the ship. 

“Young women,” he exclaimed suddenly, “a light 
strikes me. That’s the Fly-by-Night.” 

“ You pretend you can make out the ship’s name at 
that distance ? ” said the eldest sister, with the slightest 
of smiles. 

“ Not with the glass, but by the intuition of gen- 
ius,” he retorted, coolly. “What’s more, I can tell 
you the name of her commanding officer, Miss Nails. 
Which his initials are Francis Holford King.” 

“King?” said his mother, with but little interest. 
“ Oh yes, I remember.” 

“ And he’s coming to pay you a visit ; that’s what’s 


H 


THA T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCH. 


the matter,” continued the youth, still with the glass 
raised. “ Nails, you’d better hide that novel, and pre- 
tend you’ve been sewing. Beauty ’’-(this was an alter- 
native name for the second sister), “ are you at the 
proper angle? Baby, smooth out your pinafore.” 

“ Thomas, I insist on your treating your sisters with 
more respect,” his mother said, angrily. 

“ Well, I should almost like to be that fellow,” con- 
tinued Thomas, with perfect good-humor. “Fancy: 
at five-and-twenty, commanding a ten-gun brig! He 
has brains, that chap ; not like the others that come 
fooling around here. Why, old Stratherne told me all 
about him. They made him a lieutenant when he was 
just of age.” 

“ With your abilities, Tom,” said his eldest sister, 
“ I suppose you’ll be commanding one of her Majesty’s 
ships too when you’re five-and-twenty.” 

He was not at all crushed by the sarcasm. 

“ My abilities,” he said, still looking through the 
glass, “ are, I know, remarkable ; but I think, on the 
whole, a rich widow will be more in my line of coun- 
try.” 

By this time all the girls had come to the window 
to watch the busy scene without — the small sailing- 
boats and rowing-boats passing and repassing under 
the bows and stern of the brig, their occupants staring 
at the guns in the open ports, or listening to the fid- 
dling on the fore-castle, where the men were dancing. 
But the interest of the Beresfords was concentrated 
rather on the gig that waited below, at the foot of the 
accommodation ladder, with five blue-jackets in her. 
They saw an officer descend and step into the stern of 
the gig ; then she was shoved off, and simultaneously 
the oars struck the water. In a very few minutes the 


IN BRUNSWICK TERRACE . 


>5 


bow of the boat was run up on the beach, the gang- 
board put out, and then the officer stepped ashore. « 

“ Oh my ! ain’t' we resplendent ! ” remarked the 
brother of the girls, apparently to himself. “ But it 
will be mortally awkward, young sir, if your ship should 
get aground, with the tide ebbing. Lawks-a-mussy ! 
a court-martial. Even your first-class certificates, and 
Sir George Stratherne, and all the Lords put to- 
gether, couldn’t get you out of that. And then the ig- 
nominy of it ! Question : What on earth made you 
take the Fly-by-Night in to Brighton? Answer : 
Please sir — ax yer pardon, sir — I only wanted to spoon 
one o’ them doosid pretty Beresford girls.” 

“ Thomas, leave the room,” said his mother, in a 
violent rage. 

Thomas could not help it ; he had to go. But he 
said, as he passed her : 

“Take care, mother; you are involving yourself in 
something serious. Her Majesty’s brig Fly-by-Night 
will be aground in about two twinkles ! ” 

A few minutes later Lady Beresford was handed a 
card inscribed “ Lieutenant Francis Holford King, 
R. N.,” and shortly thereafter the owner of the card 
presented himself in the drawing-room. Now there 
can be no doubt that her Majesty’s uniform, especially 
when women-folk are the spectators, lends a certain 
dignity to the human figure ; but even in ordinary 
dress this newcomer would have seemed to most a 
manly-looking, well built young fellow, who had some 
decision in his face, and a very straightforward way of 
looking at people. He was of middle height, slight, 
square-shouldered ; his forehead square ; his hair black, 
likewise the short mustache twisted at the ends ; while 
his eyes were of that singularly dark and luminous blue 
that one never sees — oddly enough — except in the 


16 THA T BE A UTIFUL IVRE TCH. 

eyes of sailors. However, there was nothing of the 
robustious, shiver-my-timbers, conventional sailor about 
him ; his manner was somewhat reserved ; he had a 
touch of gravity beyond his. years ; perhaps he had 
acquired it through being put at an early age in com- 
mand of so many men ; but it never forsook him, not 
even in the ward-room, among his brother officers. 

He seemed shy, also. When he had shaken hands 
with Lady Beresford and her daughters, and sat down, 
there was a distinct flush on the sun-brown face ; and 
he proceeded to say, hastily : 

“ I — I heard you had come down here at the end of 
the season, Lady Beresford — Admiral Stratherne told 
me — and I had a telegram to send off ; so I thought 
I might take the chance of finding you not gone abroad 
yet.” 

“ I am not going abroad this year,” Lady Beresford 
said, wearily. “ Really my nerves can not stand the 
perpetual fatigue and worry of the railway stations 
and hotels. But the girls are going — by themselves. 
It is becoming quite common now. They don’t want 
even to have a maid with them ; and really I am 
ashamed of the attention I require.” 

“ Nan is going with us too,” said Miss Beresford, 
staring into the fireplace, where there was no fire.” 

“ Oh, indeed,” said the grave young lieutenant. 

“ She has never been abroad before. Won’t her eyes 
grow T big ! She has a great capacity for wrnnder and 
admiration ; she will do all our reverence for us at the 
proper shrines.” 

“You have seen Sir George recently, then ? ” said 
Lady Beresford. 

“ At Portsmouth, last week. They -Were all down 
from the Admiralty.” 

“ What a dear old gentleman he is ! ” she said. 


IN BRUNSWICK TERRACE. 


1 7 


“ He is the finest sailor and the best-hearted gentle- 
man in her Majesty’s service — and that’s not saying a 
small thing,” was the answer, prompt and straight. 

“ You are a great pet of his,” said Miss Beresford, 
“ are you not ? ” 

“ He has been a very good friend to me. But you 
needn’t imagine it is because of that I respect him — 
that I more than respect him — I love him.” There 
was a touch of earnestness in his voice and in the 
simplicity of the phrase that made Miss Beresford 
regard him for. a second with almost wondering eyes. 
She had never seen, for her part, anything about Sir 
George Stratherne to be enthusiastic about. 

However, she had to continue the conversation 
unaided, for her mother was too languid, Beauty had 
got into an effective position, and was content to be 
silent, while the Baby was useless. So she said, with 
a smile : 

“ I hope Sir George won’t have to find fault with 
you for bringing your ship into these shallow waters. 
Tom — my brother Tom, you know — is very anxious 
about it. I think he would like to give you his 
advice.” 

“ I should be glad to have it,” said Lieutenant King, 
with befitting gravity, “ but I do not think we are in 
any great danger. And how is your brother?” 

“ Oh, very well — I mean very ill. Worse than ever. 
I wish you would take him with you for a cruise or 
two.” “ 

“As they used to take a cask of raw Madeira,” said 
he, laughing heartily, “to fine down? Well, you’re 
right about one thing ; there’s some good stuff in the 
lad. He might fine down to something good. But he 
is not in proper guidance.” 


1 8 TIIA T BE A UTIFUL WRE 1 CH. 

“ He is in no guidance at all,” sighed his mother. 

“ Is he going abroad with you ? ” 

“ Not he,” said Miss Beresford. “ He wouldn’t be 
bothered with us girls. He will see us as far as New- 
haven, perhaps, and make brutal jokes all the way 
about the Channel.” 

“You are going soon, then?” said he. Somehow 
there was a kind of constraint about this young lieu- 
tenant’s manner. He seemed to be thinking of some- 
thing or some one else. His remarks and questions 
were of the most conventional sort. 

“ On the first of September, I think, we shall be 
ready to start.” 

“And are you going far?” he said, in the same 
preoccupied way. 

“ To Lucerne, first, I imagine; and then over the 
Splugen, when it is cool enough to go into Italy.” 

“Oh, indeed,” said he. And then he added, after a 
pause, “ Oh, indeed.” 

Then he rose. 

“ I see my man has got back,” he said. “ I am sorry, 
Lady Beresford, I can not ask you to bring your 
daughters to look over the ship : we must be off 
directly. Some other time, perhaps. It would give 
me very great pleasure indeed. I hope, Miss Beres- 
ford, you will have a pleasant journey. I have been 
thinking of going abroad myself this autumn if I can 
get sufficient leave. Will you remember me to your 
brother Tom ? ” 

He bade them good-by and left. They were silent 
until they saw him cross over the King’s Road. Then 
the business of criticism began. 

“ He doesn’t talk like a sailor at all,” said the Baby, 
with a pout ; “he talks just like anybody.” 

“ At all events, he is very good-looking,” said Beauty, 


A FIRST BALL. 


*9 

warmly. “ He has the loveliest eyes I ever saw in a 
man. And his hands — did you notice his gloves?” 

“ A sailor shouldn’t wear gloves,” said the Baby, 
who had not seen Lieutenant King before, but had 
heard of him, and was disappointed that he did not 
correspond to the nautical heroes she had read of. 

“ I think gold-lace is far better on blue than on scar- 
let,” said Beauty. “ I think blue and gold looks better 
than anything in a ball-room.” 

“ He didn’t tell us a single wonderful story,” said the 
disappointed Baby. 

But Mary Beresford’s comment was more odd still. 
She glanced at her mother and laughed. 

“ Mother, he didn’t even once mention Nan’s name.” 


CHAPTER III. 

A FIRST BALL. 

NEVERTHELESS, Lieutenant King was quite as well 
acquainted with Nan Beresford as he was with the other 
members of the family — and this was how he came to 
know her. The Beresfords had for many years been 
the intimate friends of the Strathernes ; and though 
they saw less of each other since Lady Beresford, on 
becoming a widow, had gone to live permanently in 
Brighton, still the London season brought them in a 
measure together again. Lady Beresford took rooms 
in Bruton Street during the fashionable months of the 
year for herself and her grown-up daughters ; and from 
time to time, and as a great treat, Nan was allowed to 
come up for a few days from Brighton. On these rare 
occasions, if Sir George heard of the Beautiful Wretch 
being in town, nothing would do but that she should 


20 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


come with her mother and sisters to lunch in Spring 
Gardens — he being at this time Senior Naval Lord. 
And Nan was rejoiced. She was not at all a foolish 
young virgin ; she was well aware of the affection the 
old Admiral had for her ; and while she heartily recip- 
rocated it, she knew that his special patronage of her 
gave her a sort of distinction among her sisters. 

Well, one of these opportunities arrived, and Nan, not 
a little elated, but outwardly very demure, drove away 
with her mother and sisters, in a hired brougham, to 
New Street. In due course they arrived at their des- 
tination, and they had just got inside the door, when, 
as chance would have it, Sir George himself came from 
the dining-room into the hall. He was a wiry-looking, 
handsome, elderly man, with grizzled hair, a firm face, 
and the kindliest of gray eyes, while on this occasion 
he was very gorgeously attired, for he had already 
dressed for a Levee, and, moreover, it was a Collar Day. 
It was extraordinary to see how naturally Nan went 
up to him, taking it for granted he would scarcely have 
a word for anybody else. And he hadn’t. Of course 
he shook hands with Lady Beresford, and Mary, and 
Edith, and welcomed them in a kind of way; but it was 
Nan that he seized with both hands; and it was Nan 
that he himself escorted up stairs to the drawing-room ; 
and it was Nan that he presented to Lady Stratherne, 
just as if there was nobody else in the world. Lady 
Stratherne, though she was also a miracle of kindness, 
knew her duties better, and busied herself with the 
others, leaving those two to themselves. 

“Well, now,” said the old sailor, briskly, “ what is 
our first dance to be?” 

“I beg your pardon, Sir George?” she said. 

“ Why, don’t you know, girl, that you’re coming to 
the ball?” 


A FIRST BALL. 


21 


" What ball, Sir George?” said she, quite innocently. 
What ball indeed ! And she had heard her sisters 
speak of nothing else for a fortnight. 

“ Why, my ball, our ball, everybody’s ball ! Why 
don’t you know that the world is going to stand still 
on Thursday night — in amazement ? And if you didn’t 
know, now you know ; and that’s the ball you’re com- 
ing to, as sure as my name is Jack Horner — now, now, 
I’ve set my mind on it — ” 

Nan was no longer a hypocrite. Her heart began to 
beat rapidly, not with joy, but with fright. 

“ Oh, Sir George, I — I never was at a ball — I — I 
never go out — mamma would never dream — ” 

He turned and sung across the room, 

“ Mother ! ” 

The lady who was addressed in this homely fashion 
was herself far from homely: she was a distinguished- 
looking woman, with pale, refined features, and a sin- 
gularly intelligent and sweet expression. 

“ Mother, this girl is coming to the ball on Thursday, 
whether she likes it or not. I want a partner ; I insist 
on having a partner. Get a card and invite her — a card 
all to herself — her name in capital letters — the honor 
of the company of the BEAUTIFUL WRETCH: will that 
do?” 

Lady Stratherne said nothing at all, but regarded the 
other mother with a sort of puzzled smile. 

“ Oh, Sir George ! ” Lady Beresford protested, “ it 
is impossible. Thank you very much, but it is impos- 
sible.” 

“ Impossible ? ” he cried. “ We don’t know what that 
is at the Admiralty. The men who write in the news- 
papers expect us to be able to do everything at a mo- 
ment’s notice, and of course they’re right ; and so of 
course we can do it. And so can you ; the end of the 


22 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


argument being that Nan is coming to our ball on 
Thursday night, as I’m a living Dutchman.” 

But the matter was not so easily settled. There was 
a fierce fight. It was ridiculous that a school-girl, who 
ought to be walking two and two along the Marine 
Parade, should go to one of the big balls of the Lon- 
don season. How could a ball dress be got ready by 
Thursday night? And so forth, and so forth. Sir 
George paid no attention to all this firing of cotton 
pellets. She was coming to the ball on Thursday night, 
he maintained with a dogged obstinacy worthy of Nel- 
son. And the end of it was that before they went 
down to lunch it had been finally agreed that Nan was 
to come to this ball ; her mother remarking to Lady 
Stratherne, with a sigh of resignation, 

“ I can’t imagine what Sir George sees in that gawky 
child.” 

Now we have it on the best authority — or what ought 
to be the best authority, that is to say, we have it from 
a multitude of lady writers — that the prospect of going 
to a first ball is one of the great joys of a young girl’s 
life. The present writer, at all events, is not bold 
enough to impeach such an array of witnesses, and will 
only state the simple fact that in the case of Nan Beres- 
ford this prospect filled her mind with nothing but ter- 
ror and dismay. It was in all sincerity that she had be- 
sought Sir George to let her off, though she might as 
well have gone down on her knees to the Monument. 
He could not understand why a young girl of seven- 
teen should be really reluctant to go to a dance — and 
a very pretty dance too, for the rooms were to be dec- 
orated with flags. And when Nan told her mother and 
sisters that she would far rather not go to the ball, her 
mother fancied she was afraid that her dress, being 
hurriedly made, would not compare well with her sis- 


A FIRST BALL. 


2 3 


ters’ long-studied costumes, while the sisters simply 
said to each other, “Oh, she knows she can’t dance.” 

There was some little truth in this last remark. Al- 
though she lived in a well-frequented house, where 
there were plenty of people coming and going, Nan 
had grown up very much apart. She had her own 
ways and occupations, which were mostly solitary. 
And dancing had never been a favorite amusement of 
hers. Of course, in the evening, when some young 
people were present, there was frequently a carpet- 
dance improvised, and then sometimes Nan was dragged 
in to make up a set at some square dance. She got 
through it mechanically, but it afforded her no special 
pleasure ; and as for round dances, she said they made 
her giddy, and so she got excused. Giddy, she said ; 
and yet she could walk, without the slightest sensation 
in the brain, along the extreme verge of those high 
chalk cliffs, to watch the jackdaws and hawks and gulls 
at nest-building time ; and she could swing for an hour 
in a trapeze, so long as the seat was comfortable, and 
you gave her a book to read. 

Not that she at all played the part of Cinderella in 
the house. Her mother was exceedingly fond of her — 
partly, perhaps, because Nan alone took the trouble to 
humor all her mysterious nerve miseries ; while her sis- 
ters tolerated her, though they thought her unsocial. 
Even this dress, when it did appear — and a thousand 
times Nan had inwardly prayed that it might not be 
ready in time — was quite as pretty as theirs. It was 
very pretty indeed ; but somehow Nan, as she regarded 
herself in the big mirror, convinced herself that there 
was not enough of her to carry off a ball dress. Her 
sisters had a certain “ presence ” that a grand costume 
became. She thought she was too thin- — that she 
looked more like a school-girl than ever ; and she wished 


M 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH 


that she were not freckled. When at last she was in 
the carriage with the others — Mr. Thomas had gone 
in a hansom rather than ride with the coachman — she 
said, cunningly: 

“ Mamma dear, I am sure you will be excited with 
speaking to so many old friends, and you know your 
nerves cannot stand it. Let me sit by you, and take 
as much of the talk as I can. I really don’t care to 
dance. I would rather not dance. I would far rather 
sit by you, mamma. And I am sure it is not neces- 
sary for us to stay long; it will do you such a deal of 
harm.” 

Lady Beresford sighed. 

“ When one has grown-up daughters— ” she said, al- 
most to herself. 

“ Mamma dear,” said Nan, eagerly ; “ would you rather 
stay at home? Wouldn’t you rather stay at home? 
and I will keep you company.” 

“ Don’t be silly, child,” said her eldest sister. “Do 
you think your dress cost nothing?” 

The worst time of all was the waiting in Spring Gar- 
dens, where there was a block of carriages. It was all 
darkness, and expectation, and the hopeless sense that, 
being imprisoned in this slowly moving line, there was 
no escape. But when they were once at the entrance, 
and when Nan got a glimpse at the hall, her courage 
revived wonderfully. There was such a crowd of peo- 
ple — coming, going, waiting, looking for friends, and 
arranging dresses — that she felt that she could slip into 
this self-interested throng and be lost from observation 
altogether. She began to be forgetful of herself. 
When they were going up the stairs she heard names 
after names announced that she was quite familiar with 
— either through the newspapers or through the con- 
versation at luncheon tables ; and she was almost anx- 


A FIRST BALL. 


25 


ious to get quickly up to have a glimpse at these cele- 
brated people. When she got to the landing, she did 
not see Lady Stratherne at all, for her eyes were filled 
with wonder at the blaze of light and color beyond — 
the draperies of flags, and masses of chandeliers — and 
she said, under her breath, “Oh, mamma, isn’t it beau* 
tifui ! ” The next thing she heard was “ Nan dear, how 
well you are looking! what beautiful forget-me-nots!” 
and in a startled way she found that she was shaking 
hands with Lady Stratherne, whose kind eyes were re- 
garding her with a momentary approval. Instinctively, 
however, she knew from the way that her hostess’s eyes 
had turned to the next comers — there were far too 
many loiterers about this landing, and Lady Stratherne 
had enough to do to prevent a dead block on the stairs 
— that she need not stay to speak ; so she followed her 
mother and sisters into the large, brilliantly lit room. 
Oh, how glad she was that it was crammed with this 
dense, busily occupied crowd ! She felt quite safe ; 
she felt happy ; she was pleased that those few forget- 
me-nots looked nice. And there was no dancing at 
all. “ Oh, mamma, tell me who all the people are,” 
she said. She began to consider herself quite at home 
in the middle of such a crowd of strangers; she had 
only to be delighted with the blaze of color, the bril- 
liant costumes, the scent of flowers, the wonders of dia- 
monds. 

Momentarily her great good fortune increased. 
Friends of Lady Beresford began to come round her ; and 
they made a sort of circle, as it were ; and Nan found she 
could keep herself just a little bit outside of it, seeing 
everything, herself unseen. Her cup of happiness was 
full. She had passed the ordeal unscathed. Why, it 
was nothing ! All the people were engaged with them- 
selves ; there was not a sound of music ; nothing but a 


2 6 


TIIA T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCH. 


hum of talking, and always that bewildering glow of 
light and color, and here and there a figure and face 
suddenly revealing to her somebody she recognized 
from photographs and portraits in the illustrated papers. 
She was becoming quite lost to herself. She could 
have stood there forever. She was not thinking of 
Nan Beresford at all, when — 

When suddenly there was a long, low growl from a 
violoncello. Her heart sank. 

Almost at the same moment she saw another little 
group — of elderly men, mostly- — open out at one cor- 
ner of the room near her ; and the next thing she knew 
was that Sir George’s keen eyes had caught sight of her. 
He was by her side in a second. 

“ What,” said he, “ standing all alone ? Why, where’s 
Charlie? What’s Charlie about ? Lady Beresford, how 
are you ? Ah, Mary? Edith, you are lovelier every 
day. But where is that rascal Charlie ? I must find a 
partner for my sweetheart — ” 

“Oh, please, Sir George,” said Nan, with her heart 
beating fast. 

But by this time there was a noise of preparatory 
music, and in the middle of the crowd there was some- 
thing visible like the formation of a double line. At 
the same instant young Charlie Stratherne came hur- 
riedly along, with an eagle eye for possible partners. 
Him his father instantly seized. 

“ Where’s Frank King? Go and get Frank King. I 
want Frank King.” 

And, behold, Frank King was at his elbow. 

“ Sir George — ” 

“ Oh, that’s you, Frank King. Ask this young lady 
if she will dance with you — ” 

“Come on, Frank,” said the youthful M.C., in his 
hurried bewilderment of duty. “You’ll just do. Let 


A FIRST BALL. 27 

me introduce you to Miss Anne Beresford. Lieuten- 
ant King. They want a couple at the other end.” 

So he disappeared in the crowd ; and Nan found her- 
self in the possession of this young naval officer, who 
seemed to take matters very coolly, considering that 
they were wanted right at the top of the spacious assem- 
bly-room. Happily she heard from the music that it 
was the Lancers that was about to begin ; so she was 
not entirely dismayed. 

“ I suppose we shall get through somehow,” said he, 
surveying the close mass of people with the eye of a 
strategist. The clearing of the space in the middle 
had naturally made the surrounding crowd denser. 

“I think it will be difficult,” said she, timidly. 

“ Well, we can try this end,” said he, about to lead 
her in that direction. 

“ Oh ! ” she said, very earnestly, “ I am sure we shall 
only embarrass them if we have another set at this end. 
And — and — I am not anxious to dance the Lancers. 

I would as soon not,” she said. 

Then for the first time it seemed that he turned 
toward her ; and as she happened to be looking up at 
him to impress on him that she would as soon not 
dance, she instantaneously lowered her eyes, and sought 
refuge in the little scented programme. 

“ Perhaps,” said he, after the fifteenth part of a sec- 
ond — “ perhaps you would give me a dance that you 
like better.” 

Her innocent answer was to hand him her programme, 
upon which there was as yet not a scrap of writing. 
So, when that matter was arranged, he said to her : 

“Would you like to see this dance, then? It’s very 
pretty, when you are at a little distance. And I know 
how to get to that recess there ; it’s raised a few 
inches, you know; and I think you could see.” 


28 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH 


“ Oh, I should like that.” she said. How grateful 
she was to him ! 

They made their way to this side recess, which had 
been built out temporarily from the drawing-room, for 
the sake of additional space. It was decorated with 
trailing plants, trained on trellis-work ; and two or three 
circles of red candles, amid so much green foliage, had 
a pretty effect. There were a few people standing 
about and looking on at the dancing, or talking ; it was 
possible to talk, for here the music was softened. 

Nan’s companion led her to a raised bench, from 
which she could see very well ; but even as she sat 
down, and while she was so glad to have been relieved 
from dancing out there amid all those people, she was 
touched by some strange misgivings. It was her duty 
to have danced. She had been presented with a part- 
ner ; and if only she had not shown herself reluctant, 
she knew very well he could have found places for them. 
Were not officers always fond of dancing? And then 
it suddenly occurred to her that she ought to try to 
make him some amends. She ought to entertain him 
with brilliant conversation, as it were. Meanwhile, what 
was he doing? Not thinking of her — except as a boo- 
by, a child who could not talk. No doubt he was look- 
ing out at all those beautiful women there, and wish- 
ing he was not imprisoned in this corner. 

Nan timidly raised her eyes, and instantly dropped 
them again. He had been for the moment looking .at 
the forget-me-nots in her hair. 


THE SAME. 


29 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE SAME. 

Nan was growing desperate. Speak she must, if 
only to let him know that she was sensible of his kind- 
ness in affording her this blissful relief ; for she believed 
it was entirely on her account that he had proposed 
to sit out the dance. So she said, wildly, 

“ You go to a great many balls, I suppose?” 

“ Oh dear no,’ he said. “ I am not much ashore.” 

Of course. She might have known. Wa$ there not 
an air of command about him, young as he was? No 
doubt he held far too important a position to waste 
time on idle entertainments. 

“ I mean earlier — as a midshipman,” she stammered. 
“You must have been to many places, and — and I 
thought the life of a midshipman was nothing but par- 
ties and balls, along with a great deal of mischief. 
That is what one reads, you know, about the young 
gentlemen — always tumbling into trouble, and always 
getting happily out of it, and always amusing them- 
selves just as much as they amuse others.” 

This was not so bad. Nan’s face had brightened ; 
she regarded him with her clear eyes. 

“You are thinking of Captain Marryat,” said he, 
laughing. “ But times have changed sadly for the 
middy since then. It isn’t all beer and skittles now. 
Nowadays the poor chap can scarcely call his soul his 
own; and if he is going in for his Three Ones — ” 

“ I beg your pardon ; what is that?” she said, with 
a grave interest. 

“Trifling little things,” said he, jocosely. “Only 
first-class certificates in gunnery, seamanship, and math- 


30 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


cmatics ; then, to finish up with, the unhappy youth 
has to look forward to an interview or two with the 
hydrographer, who isn't at all a gentleman to be made 
a fool of." 

How was it that she knew instinctively that this 
young officer had got his Three Ones — nay, that he 
had carried them off easily, triumphantly? What was 
there in his manner, Or the shape of his forehead, or 
his expression, that rendered her perfectly certain that 
he had nothing to fear from all the hydrographers ever 
born? 

“ Why, even in my time, I can remember when the 
middy was allowed a good deal more law," he contin- 
ued; and now he had sat down beside her, and her 
eyes met his quite frankly. “ I remember a fearful 
scene at Cherbourg, at a ball there ; that was when the 
fleet went over, and there was a great round of festiv- 
ities. Well, this ball, I think, was given by the Mayor 
— I am not quite sure ; but, at all events, the midship- 
mites were invited with the rest, and those who could 
get leave went, of course. Well, we had the run of the 
refreshment-room — and we used it. There was far too 
much Champagne, and all our seniors were in the ball- 
room — the Duke of Somerset, and. the whole of them ; 
so we set to work to chaff the waiters in unknown 
tongues. Anything more patient or friendly than 
the conduct of these amiable creatures I never saw. 
They entirely entered into the spirit of the thing, and 
grinned and nodded in high glee when we inquired 
about their mothers and sisters — in English, of course ; 
and then we tried bad French on them, and broad 
Scotch, with a touch of Lancashire thrown in ; and then 
they grinned all the more, and shrugged their shoul- 
ders. My chum, Greville, was the worst, I think : he 
kept asking for all sorts of ridiculous things, and was 


THE SAME . 


31 


very angry when he couldn’t get them. ‘ Avez-vous 
du vin de Cockalorum ? ’ he asked of one fellow : of course 
Greville spoke real true-blue English French. 1 Coque 
h la lorrrrme?' said the waiter. 1 Je crois que non , 
monsieur .’ 4 Pourquoi n avezvous pas du vin de Cockalor y 
um ? ’ said Greville, with great indignation. ‘ C'est une 
chose monstrueuse . . Nous sommes les invites de la grande 
nation Frangaise ; nous sommes les officiers de sa Majesty 
la Reine d'Angleterre; et vous n avez pasdu vm de 
Cockalorum?' There was enough of other wine, at 
all events,” added Frank King. “ I am afraid there 
was a good deal of headache next morning among the 
younger officers of her Majesty’s fleet.” 

“Weren’t you afraid,” said Nan, who had forgotten 
what shyness was by this time — “weren’t you afraid 
the French might be tempted to take a mean advan- 
tage, and capture the fleet bodily?” 

“ It would have been no more mean advantage, ’’said 
he, with a laugh, “than we used to take in fighting 
them when they were seasick. ”, 

“ Sailors seasick?” she exclaimed. 

“Yes, that’s just where it was,” he said, and the friend- 
ly interest he displayed in this young lady was very 
wonderful. Already they seemed to have known each 
other for a quite indefinite time. “Mind you, people 
laugh nowadays at the old belief that one English sailor 
was as good as seven French ones. But it was quite 
true ; and the explanation is simple enough. The fact 
was that the English kept such a strict blockade of the 
French ports that the French sailors never had a prop- 
er chance of finding their sea-legs. They never got 
out. When they did come out they had to fight ; and 
how can you expect a seasick man to fight? But I 
was talking of that chum of mine, Greville. He was 
the coolest hand I ever came across. Once he and I 


32 


THA T BE A UTIFUL WRE 7 C H. 


— when we were mids, you know — had to go down by 
rail from Genoa to Spezia — ” 

At this moment the music slowly ceased ; and the 
kaleidoscopic groups out there, that had been going 
through all sorts of interminglings and combinations, 
lost cohesion, as it were, and melted away into the 
murmuring and amorphous crowd. Miss Nan knew 
very well that she ought now to return to her mamma. 
But how was she to break in upon this story? When 
one has already begun to tell you something, more 
particularly when that something is about himself and 
an old companion — and especially if you do not wish 
to be perplexed with invitations to dance — it is not 
polite to interrupt. 

So the young lieutenant, taking no notice whatever 
of the cessation of the dancing, continued his story ; 
and told several more, which Miss Nan found intensely 
interesting — so absorbing, indeed, that she met the eyes 
of her companion without any abashment, and fre- 
quently laughed in her low, quiet way. These two 
seemed very friendly, and heedless of what was going 
on around them, and might, in fact, have continued 
talking for a quite indefinite time, had not, all of a sud- 
den, Charlie Stratherne come up, followed by a tall 
man with a long yellow beard, and before Nan knew 
what had happened, she was being led away to pierce 
the great throng that had now grown very dense in- 
deed, a waltz having already begun. As for the young 
lieutenant, he somewhat abruptly declined his friend’s 
offer to find him a partner. 

“You’ve plenty of dancing men. There won’t be 
room to move, shortly.” 

Charlie Stratherne was too busy to stay and ask why 
his friend refused to dance, and would not even remain 
in the ball-room ; the next second he was off. Then 


THE SAME. 


33 


the young lieutenant managed to make his way 
through the crowd to the door, and as there were still 
plenty of people arriving, he succeeded in passing his 
hostess unobserved, and making his way down stairs. 

He entered the brilliantly decorated but quite emp- 
ty supper-room, and sat down. One of the servants 
happened to come in, and stared at him. 

“ Look here, ” said he ; “ could you get me an even- 
ing paper ? ” 

“ Oh yes, sir,” said the man ; and he went off, and 
speedily returned with the newspaper. 

Frank King sat down, turned his back to the table, 
and was soon — all by himself in this long chamber — ap- 
parently deeply absorbed in the evening’s news. 
What he really was doing, however, was listening to the 
music overhead. 

Meanwhile, Nan got through the waltz somehow — 
the crush was so great that her partner, who was not 
much of a pilot, generally succeeded in steering her into 
some little side bay, where they came slowly to rest by 
mere friction, or else landed her right in the middle of 
the room, where there was a throng of unskilful dancers 
become stationary in spite of themselves. At last 
she was surrendered again to her mother’s care. 

“ Well, Nan,” said Lady Beresford, with an amused 
look, “ how did you get on ? ” 

“You mean how much did I get off?” said she. 
“ I believe I’m all in rags. And that elephant of a 
man bumped me against every person in the room.” 

Here the Admiral came along — bustling, as was his 
wont, talking to everybody at the same time, and in- 
variably putting his hand on the shoulder of those 
whom he knew best, to give effect to his speech. 

“ Well, well, my girl,” he said, “ how did you like 
your partner? Did he amuse you? Did he compli- 


.34 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


ment you on the roses in your cheeks — ah, that’s the 
Brighton air, that is.” 

“ Oh, if you mean Lieutenant King,” said Nan, with- 
out any hesitation or embarrassment, “ I think he is 
very amusing indeed — very. And very clever too, is 
he not ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, he’s a smart young fellow — a smart young 
fellow is Frank King. We’ve had an eye on him for 
some time back.” 

“ I should say, now,” remarked Nan, with a wise air, 
“ that he had got his Three Ones ! ” 

The Admiral stared at her, then burst out laughing. 

“You young impertinences! What do you know 
about the Three Ones ? - He had got his certificates be- 
fore he was one-and-twenty. But here — I will tell you 
something.” 

He took her a step aside. 

“ Hush, now — hush-sh. It is a state secret. Don’t 
say a word. But I'll tell you what we’re going to do 
with Frank King to-morrow: we’re going to give him 
the command of the Fly-by-Night. What do you 
think of that for a lieutenant of five-and-twenty ? ” 

“ If he has relatives, I suppose they will be very 
proud,” said Nan. 

“ Relatives ! Don’t you know the Kings of Kings- 
court ? But there, now, I mustn’t keep you talking; 
I suppose you’re engaged for every dance. Mind you 
are down at supper while I’m there ; I will drink a 
glass of wine to the roses in your cheeks — ” 

And so he was off again before she could say, as she 
greatly wished to say, “ Oh, Sir George, I would rather 
talk to you than have to do any more dancing. Sure- 
ly there are enough people dancing.” 

Then she looked round the room for some consider- 
able time. At last she said to herself contentedly: 


THE SAME. 


35 


“Yes; I thought he was too clever-looking to care 
about dancing; and I don’t wonder he has gone home. 
But it would have been nice if I had had the chance to 
tell him he was going to have the command of the Fly- 
by-Night.” 


CHAPTER V. 

THE SAME. 

The night passed quickly, and amid all this bewilder- 
ment of music and dancing and introductions, Nan very 
soon forgot even the existence of the young lieutenant 
whose acquaintance she had made. Moreover, the suc- 
cession of these rapid excitements left no room for any. 
thing resembling stage-fright — although, it is true, each 
time the band began anew she felt a little throb. But 
Lady Stratherne, who had now all her guests assembled, 
was so indefatigable in seeing that Nan should not be 
left neglected, and the dancing in this crowd was so 
much a matter of experiment and accident, and the fact 
that she was introduced to one or two partners who 
seemed no more expert than herself was so reassuring 
that, on the whole, Nan was very much delighted in her 
demure way, and that delight showed itself in her face 
and -in her clear, bright eyes. Her hair was a little wild, 
and she had lost some of her forget-me-nots ; and there 
were one or two flying tags that had got dissociated 
from the skirt of her dress : but was not that all part of 
the play? Nan’s cheeks were flushed, and her eyes 
were pleased and bright : the only thing that troubled 
her in this whirl of excitement was an occasional qualm 
about her mother. Had she not promised to keep the 
poor mamma company? But a time would come, and 


3 ^ 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH 


then she would make amends by being particularly af- 
fectionate. 

The time did come. On consulting the programme 
Nan found opposite the next dance a scrawl that might 
be made out to be “F. H. King,” and then she be- 
thought herself of the young sailor. Well, he had left. 
That was very opportune. She would devote the time 
of this dance to her mother, and take her into the tea- 
room, and ask her which of her old friends she had met, 
and even offer to go home with her if she felt fatigued. 

“ Mamma,” she said to Lady Beresford, “ don’t you 
think I’ve done enough ? England can’t expect you to 
do more than your duty, even with all those flags over- 
head. Come away, and I will get you some tea. 
Though what would be still better for you would be 
some B. and S.” 

“ Nan, how dare you ?” said her mother, angrily, and 
glancing round. “You may use such expressions if 
you like when you are with your brother. Pray don’t 
disgrace the whole family when you are elsewhere.” 

“Mamma dear,” said Nan, contritely, “it is mad- 
ness — pure madness. The excitement of my first ball 
has got into my brain — ” 

“Into your what?” said her mother, with a smile; 
Nan, and Nan alone, could pacify her in a second. 

At the same moment the band began again ; and 
somehow Nan, looking up, found before her some one 
who was no other than the young lieutenant she had 
met at the beginning of the evening. She was some- 
what bewildered by this jack-in-the-box sort of appear- 
ance. 

“I think you promised me this next dance, Miss 
Beresford,” said he. He was a grave-looking young 
man for his years — a Corsican Brother — the Ghost in 
Hamlet — she did not know what to make of him. 


THE SAME. 


37 


“I thought you had left,” she stammered. “You 
have not been dancing ? ” 

“ No, I have not been dancing,’' he repeated. 

“ I will come back to you soon, mamma,” she said, 
and she put her hand on his arm and moved away 
with him. 

“ The fact is,” said he, “ I don’t like much being in- 
troduced to strangers : most girls stare at you so, with 
a sort of hold-off air, and it is so difficult to get on 
pleasant and friendly terms with them.” 

“ I should not have thought you were so shy,” said 
Nan, with an honest laugh. 

He flushed a little, and said : 

“ If you’ve lived most of your life on board ship, 
you may feel a little bit awkward. But mind,” he 
added, with some eagerness, “ sometimes — not often — 
once in half a dozen years, maybe — you meet with a 
girl who is quite different from the others, quite differ- 
ent ; you know it at once from her manner ; and you can 
make friends with her with the greatest ease, simply 
because she is intelligent and quick in appreciation, 
and not affected in her ways, or stiff.” 

This eager encomium passed upon an imaginary per- 
son struck Nan as being somewhat out of place ; for 
the waltz had already begun, and she wanted to get 
back to her mamma. Whereas this Lieutenant King 
seemed to wish to stand there and talk to her. 

“Of course, that’s special good luck for a sailor,” 
said he, with a smile, “ to be able to make friends in a 
short time. For it’s only a short time he has. Ashore 
to-day, and off to-morrow again ; and, what’s worse, 
out of sight, out of mind.” 

“Oh, not always,” said Nan, cheerfully. 

“Oh yes, it is,” he said. “ People on shore are too 
much concerned among themselves to think about the 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


3 * 

people away at sea. Why, you yourself now; after 
you leave this house to-night you will completely for- 
get that there are such things as either ships or sailors 
until you come back here to another ball, and then the 
bunting will remind you.” 

“ Now there you are quite wrong,” said she firmly; 
“ for I see ships and sailors every day of my life.” 

“ Why, how is that ? ” he exclaimed, with great in- 
terest. 

“We live in Brighton,” said Nan, simply ; “and I 
walk a good deal along the downs — toward Newhaven, 
you know. The ships are a good way off, generally ; 
still you watch them, and you are interested in them.” 

“You walk along the downs between Brighton and 
Newhaven ? ” he said, as if it was an extraordinary mat- 
ter. “Alone?” 

“ Generally.” 

“ When I am passing, I will look out for you : I will 
imagine that I can see you.” 

Nan thought this was idle talk, so she said, with a 
smile, 

“ Shall we give up this dance too ? The fact is, I 
want to take mamma and get her some tea, or an ice, 
or something.” 

“ Oh, don’t do that ! ” said he, eagerly. “ Introduce 
me to her, and 1 will take you both down to supper. 
There are some people there already — ” 

“ But I must not go down — not yet,” said Nan, re- 
membering her youth. 

“Why not?” said he, boldly. “I know Lady 
Stratherne well enough for anything. Why, nothing 
could be more natural. Of course you will come down 
with your mamma.” 

“ I’m very. hungry, and that’s the truth,” said Nan. 
“For I was too excited or frightened to think abc 


THE SAME. 


39 


dinner. But if I went down now, wouldn’t they think 
it was a little bit — ” 

She was about to say “ cheeky,” but she remem- 
bered in time that this was not her brother. He broke 
in abruptly : 

“ Never mind what any one thinks. Come away. 
Miss Beresford, and introduce me to your mamma.” 

Then he looked at various couples rapidly moving 
round that open space to the sound of the seductive 
music, and he said rather wistfully: 

“Don’t you think we might have one turn? I 
shall not dance again this evening.” 

“ Oh yes, certainly, if you wish it,” she said, quite 
blithely ; and she gave him her fan to hold, and ar- 
ranged her train ; and a couple of seconds thereafter 
they were lost in that slowly circling whirlpool of mus- 
lin and silk and satin. 

When they came out of it again he was introduced 
to Lady Beresford ; and although he was quite anx- 
iously humble and courteous to the elder lady, he 
would hear of nothing but that she and Nan should 
forthwith go down stairs to supper. By and by there 
would be too great a crush. It was a kindness to 
Lady Stratherne to go before everybody else wanted 
a place. And Miss Anne was hungry — which was a 
great matter. 

Lady Beresford looked at Nan ; but that young lady 
was unconscious. The end of it was that these three 
very speedily found themselves below, in the supper- 
room, where as yet there were only a number of eld- 
erly people who had grown tired of the duties of chaper- 
oning. And they had scarcely sat down when Frank 
King, who was most assiduous in his attentions to 
Lady Beresford, and scarcely saw Nan at all, discov- 
ered that the mamma knew certain relatives of his, 


40 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH 


and knew all about his own family, and had even on 
one occasion visited Kings-court a good many years 
ago. Lady Beresford was very kind to him. He was 
a pleasant-mannered, clever-looking young man, and 
he had a distinguished air that lent value to the little 
courtesies he paid. She even said, as they were talk- 
ing of chance meetings and the like, that she would be 
glad if he called on them while she and her daughters 
were in London. 

“ May I be allowed to call on you at Brighton — some 
day — Lady Beresford ? ” he said, quickly. “ The fact 
is, my leave is out. I have to rejoin my ship at Ports- 
mouth to-morrow.” 

At this Nan pricked up her ears. She suddenly re- 
membered that to her had been intrusted the covert 
intelligence of his promotion. But was it necessary it 
should be kept so great a secret ? she asked herself, 
rather breathlessly, and with her heart beginning to 
beat quickly. If he were to know on the morrow, why 
not now? It would make him very happy ; it would 
indeed add a few hours of happiness to his life; and 
surely Sir George Stratherne, who was the very soul 
of kindness, would rather approve ? 

Well, she let these two talk on for a time ; she wished 
to be discreet ; she wished to be less nervous. For 
was it not a great event in the career of a young man ? 
And how might he take it ? She said to herself : “ The 
old monarchs used to kill the messengers who brought 
them bad news ; and they used to give heaps of pres- 
ents to those who brought them good news. I am 
glad I shall be able to tell him of his promotion, for 
he has been so excessively kind to mamma.” 

She waited her opportunity. 

“ Oh, Lieutenant King, do you know a ship called 


THE SAME. 


4i 


the Fly-by-Night?” she said, quite casually, and in an 
off-hand way. 

“Yes,” he said, regarding her with some surprise. 
“ She’s what they call a school-brig — a training-brig. 
I think she’s at Plymouth.” 

“A training-brig ? ” said Nan, innocently. “Then 
they want a clever officer, I suppose, to be in command 
of a training-brig ? ” 

“ Yes, they want a smart fellow,” said he, without 
any great interest ; and he was about to turn to Lady 
Beresford again, when Nan continued : 

“Would it — would it surprise you if you heard you 
were to be transferred to the Fly-by-Night ? ” 

“ I shouldn’t like to hear of it,” said he, laughing ; 
“ I am satisfied where I am.” 

“ But I mean to command her.” 

“ I am afraid that’s a long way off yet,” said he, 
lightly. 

“ Oh no, it isn’t,” said Nan timorously. “ I am sure 
it is no great secret — you will know to-morrow — you 
are to be appointed to-morrow to the command of the 
Fly-by-Night.” 

His faced flushed a deep red. 

“You are joking, Miss Beresford.” 

“ Oh no, I am not,” said Nan, hastily. “ Sir George 
told me to-night : I am not joking at all — Captain 
King,” said she, at a wild venture. 

For an instant she saw his under lip quiver. 

He sat quite silent. Then he said, 

“ That is Sir George’s doing — if it is possible.” 

He had scarcely uttered the words when the Admi- 
ral himself appeared, bringing in a little old lady with 
a portentous head-dress. Nan instantly conjectured 
that she must be a dowager-duchess, for she thought 


42 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


that no one but a dowager-duchess would dare to wear 
such a thing. 

Sir George paused as he passed them. 

“ Hillo, here’s my sweetheart. I told you I wanted 
to drink a glass of wine with you. Doing your duty, 
Frank King? When’s your leave out ?” 

“ I am going down to Portsmouth to-morrow, Sir 
George.” 

“ No, no. You’ll have a message from the Admiral- 
ty to-morrow. I didn’t see you dancing to-night ; you 
young fellows are getting lazy.” 

He passed on. Nan looked triumphantly across 
the corner of the table. Frank King said, laughing off 
his embarrassment : 

“ I have a vague impression that I ought to thank 
you for it, Miss Beresford ; and I don’t know how. I 
hope it is true. They never gave me a hint of it. 
You would have thought Charlie Stratherne would 
have known.” 

“ It was very imprudent of my daughter,” said Lady 
Beresford, severely, “ to mention such a thing. But 
Sir George makes a pet of her. And I hope no harm 
has been done.” 

Frank King warmly protested. How could any 
harm be done? And he redoubled his attentions to 
Lady Beresford. Not only that, but when they re- 
turned to the ball-room he was very anxious to be intro- 
duced to Nan’s sisters, and was most polite to them, 
though he did not ask them for a dance. Moreover, he 
got hold of Charlie Stratherne, and through him made 
the acquaintance of Mr. Tom Beresford ; and these 
three, having adjourned for a time to a certain remote 
snuggery where were sherry and soda and cigarettes, 
Frank King was quite content to accept from Mr. 
Tom hints concerning things about town. There was 


THE SAME . 


43 


in especial a famous “ lion comique ” — the Great Dunce, 
or the Jolly Ass, or some such creature — about whom 
Mr. Tom was much exercised ; and Frank King pro- 
fessed himself quite interested in hearing about this 
person. The grave young lieutenant was, indeed, ex- 
traordinarily complaisant this evening. He was un- 
usually talkative — when he was not a most attentive 
listener. You would have thought that he had ac- 
quired a sudden admiration for the brilliant social 
qualities of Mr. Tom, and that he had never heard 
such good stories before. 

Well, the Beresfords left about three ; and that was 
the end of Nan’s first ball. On the whole, she had 
every reason to be pleased. She had acquitted her- 
self fairly well ; she had gratified the soft-hearted old 
Admiral ; she hadn’t fallen in love with anybody ; 
and she had seen a number of celebrated persons in 
whom she was interested. She thought she had done 
a kindness, too, in telling Lieutenant King beforehand 
of his appointment. 

She was surprised, however, and a little bit annoyed, 
when, on the afternoon of the next day but one, her 
brother Tom brought in this same Frank King to five 
o’clock tea. He said, with 'something of a blush, that 
he wished to tell her that her news had been true ; he 
had heard from the Admiralty that morning, and he 
wished to thank her. Nan was somewhat cold in her 
manner ; she had thought with some pride that he was 
not like the other gentlemen who came about the 
house in the afternoon. She had seen enough of them, 
and their idleness, and aimless flirtations, and languid 
airs. She had taken Frank King to be of firmer stuff, 
and not likely to waste his time at- afternoon teas. 

He was kind and polite enough, no doubt, and he 
distributed his attentions in the most impartial manner 


44 


THA T BEAU TIFUL WRE TCH. 


— even including two young lady visitors to whom he 
was introduced ; but Nan seized an early opportunity 
of slipping away to her own room, where she resumed 
certain very serious studies that occupied her mind at 
this time. When she came down stairs again, Lieu- 
tenant King was gone. 

On the following day her holiday ended, and she 
went down to Brighton. Many a time she thought of 
the ball, and always with a pleasurable recollection. 
When, however, she happened to think of Frank King 
— and it was seldom — it was always with a slight touch 
of disappointment. No doubt his leave was extended ; 
probably he was still in town, and repeating those 
afternoon calls in Bruton Street. As for Nan, she hon- 
estly did not care to which train of admirers he might 
attach himself — whether he was to be Mary’s captive 
or Edith’s slave. But she was disappointed. 

“ I did think he was a little bit different from the 
others,” she would say to herself ; and then she would 
turn to Mr. Lockyer’s last discoveries in Spectrum 
Analysis. 


CHAPTER VI. 

FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 

“Nan, do you see that ship out there?” said Mary 
Beresford. 

“ I saw it as I came along,” said Nan. This was the 
afternoon on which she had fallen in with Singing Sal. 
Nan was rather tired after her long walk, and was not 
inclined to show much interest in that now lessening 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 


45 


vessel which was slowly sinking into the dusk of the 
west. 

“Do you know what her name is?” said Mary 
Beresford, still regarding her younger sister. 

“ No,” said Nan. “ I heard people say she was a 
man-of-war.” 

“ That is the Fly-by-Nigh t.” 

“ Oh, indeed,” said Nan, with no greater interest 
than before. 

“ And Lieutenant King has just called here,” the 
elder sister said, pointedly. 

“ Oh, indeed,” said Nan. “ I wish I had been in. 
I should like to have seen him in uniform.” 

That was all she said — and all she thought ; for now 
there were far more serious things than ball-rooms and 
young lieutenants occupying Nan’s attention. She and 
her sisters were going abroad — she for the first time ; 
and she was busy with foreign languages, and lives of 
the great painters, and catalogues, and guide-books, 
and dressing-cases. The world she hoped to plunge 
into on the following week was in her imagination 
composed of nothing but cathedrals and picture-galler- 
ies ; and she could have wished that the picture-galler- 
ies might contain nothing but the labors of Botticelli 
and Andrea del Sarto. The clear ethereal beauty and 
tenderness of the one, the solemn thoughtfulness of the 
other: these were things that filled her mind with a 
mysterious gladness, as if something had been added 
to her own life. Rubens she cordially hated. Of Ti- 
tian she had as yet seen hardly anything. 

At last the wonderful day of setting out arrived ; 
and Mr. Tom graciously consented to accompany his 
sisters as far as Newhaven. It was toward the after- 
noon that they started — in an open carriage, the maid 
on the box beside the coachman. Tom was making 


46 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


facetious remarks about south-west gales, and his two 
elder sisters were angrily remonstrating with him. 
Nan was silent. She had not a thought of the ships 
and sailors out there, or for any pensive young officer 
bitterly saying to himself that out of sight was out of 
mind ; and she had forgotten for a moment all about 
Singing Sal and her free-and-easy ways. Nan’s mind 
was at this time filled with Dante, and Florence, and 
the young Raphael, and the Doge wedding the Adri- 
atic, and Pompeii, and Savonarola, and goodness 
knows what else. When they reached Newhaven — 
when they forced her to descend from the carriage 
— her eyes had a bewildered look. She had not seen 
Newhaven at all. She had been watching the execu- 
tion of Savonarola, she standing in the middle of the 
great crowd in a square in Florence. 

They staid the night at the hotel at Newhaven. 
Next morning falsified all Mr. Tom’s malicious fore- 
casts : the weather was fine, and they had a smooth 
passage across. In due time they reached Paris. 

To Nan, Paris meant picture-galleries. The streets 
were new-looking, non-historical, filled with common- 
place people ; but in the picture-galleries she was with 
great names, in great times. 

“ Nan,” her sisters remonstrated, “what is the use 
of dawdling over pictures like this? The old masters 
are all alike. There are plenty of Holy Families and 
broken-necked angels in England. Why don’t you 
put off all this till you get back to the National Gal- 
lery ? ” 

Fortunately Nan was the most biddable of compan- 
ions. She seemed to be in dream-land. You could 
do what you liked with her if only you allowed her to 
gaze with her great eyes, and think, and be silent. 

Now it is unnecessary to follow in detail the various 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 


47 


journeyings and adventures of these three young ladies 
and their maid ; we may pass on to a certain evening 
when they found themselves in Lucerne. It was an 
exceedingly hot evening; and after dinner the crowd 
in this great hotel had been glad to pour out into the 
spacious veranda, which was formed by a succession 
of arches all hanging with evergreens. There they 
formed little groups round the small tables, lit up by 
the orange glow streaming out from the windows of 
the hotel, some taking coffee, some smoking, all chat- 
ting idly. 

“ It feels like thunder,” said Mary Beresford to her 
sister Edith. “ It would be odd if we were to have a 
real thunder-storm just after listening to the imitation 
one in the cathedral.” 

“ The vox humana stop is better at some things than 
at others,” said Miss Edith, critically. “ In the chant- 
ing, the boy’s voices are good, and the tenor voices are 
good, but the bass is too musical. You hear that it is 
the organ. And it vibrates too much.” 

“ They must make a good deal of money by it,” 
said the elder sister, “ in the tourist season. I am sure 
there were a hundred people there.” 

“ I wish I knew the name of the piece. I should like 
to try one or two of the airs.” 

“ It was considerate of them to finish up in time to 
let us get back for the table d' hdte.” 

“ Sooner or later that organ will shake the cathe- 
dral to bits : the vibrations were fearful. I thought 
there was a great deal too much noise. You lose effect 
when you pile up the agony like that : people only 
want to stop their ears to prevent their heads being 
split.” 

So they chatted on. But what was it that Nan, who 
had accompanied them, had heard as she sat in the 


48 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


great, empty, dimly lit cathedral, with her hands 
clasped, her head bent forward on them, her eyes 
closed? Or, rather, what was it that she saw? — for 
this seemed to be a picture in music. She saw a small 
chapel far away up in the mountains, the trembling 
red rays in the windows looking strange above the 
snow. She heard the monks at their midnight chant- 
ing — low, and sad, and distant. And then it seemed, 
as she listened, as if the stars overhead were being 
blurred out, and a murmuring wind came down the 
gorge, and the air grew cold. The darkness deepened ; 
the wind rose and moaned through the pine forests : 
then an angry gust swept along, so that the intoning 
of the monks was lost altogether. There was a rum- 
ble of distant thunder — overhead, among the unseen 
peaks. But still, unconscious of the threatening storm, 
those within the small building went on with their 
holy office, and there were snatches of the clear sing- 
ing of boys — so faint that you could scarcely hear: 
and again the strong, sad, sombre voices of the men. 
Then the tempest broke, fierce and terrible : the ele- 
ments seemed mingled together. She lost sight of 
the chapel in the whirling snow ; the heavens rattled 
overhead ; and the wind swept down so that the whole 
earth trembled. A horror of wrath and darkness has 
overwhelmed the world ; and what of the patient chor- 
isters now? No longer are their voices heard amid 
the appalling fury of the hurricane ; the sudden light- 
ning flash reveals nothing in the blackness ; the powers 
of evil have overcome: and the universe has lost its 
hope. But now there comes a lull ; and suddenly — 
far away, and faint, and triumphant — rises the song of 
reliance and joy. The demons of the night mutter 
and moan ; but the divine song rises clearer and 
more clear. It is the voice of faith, silver-toned and 


F/RST IMPRESS IONS. 


49 


sweet ; and the very heavens themselves seem to 
listen ; and the thunders rumble away into the valleys ; 
and the stars, shining, and calm, and benignant, come 
out again over the mountain-peaks. And lo ! once 
more she can descry the faint red rays above the snow ; 
and she can almost see the choristers within the little 
building ; and she listens to the silver-clear song ; and 
her heart is filled with a strange new gladness and trust. 
What must she do to keep it there forever? By what 
signal self-sacrifice, by what devotion of a whole life- 
time, by what patient and continuous duty, shall she 
secure to herself this divine peace, so that the storms 
and terrors and trials of the world may sweep by it 
powerless and unregarded ? 

When she rose and blindly followed her sisters, she 
was all trembling, and there was a great lump in her 
throat. She was, indeed, in that half-hysterical state 
in which rash resolves are sometimes made that may 
determine the course of a human life. But Nan had 
the sense to know that she was in this state, and she 
had enough firmness of character to enable her to rea- 
son with herself. She walked, silent, with her sisters, 
from the cathedral to the hotel ; and she was reason- 
ing with herself all the time. She was saying to her- 
self that she had had a glimpse, an impression, of some- 
thing divinely beautiful and touching that at some 
time or other might influence or even determine her 
course of life. When that time came she could remem- 
ber. But not now — not now. She was not going to 
resolve to become a Catholic, or join a sisterhood, or 
give herself up to the service of the poor, merely be- 
cause this wonderful music had filled her heart with 
emotion. It was necessary that she should think of 
something hard and practical — something that would 
be the embodiment of common-sense. She would 


5 © 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


force herself to think of that. And casting about, she 
determined to think — about Singing Sal. 

It was rather hard upon Sal, who had a touch of van- 
ity, and was quite conscious of what she deemed the 
romantic side of her way of life, that she should be 
taken as the sort of incarnation of the prosaic. Nev- 
ertheless, all through that table d'hbte dinner, Nan kept 
to her self-imposed task, and was busying herself about 
the wages of the coast-guardsmen, and the probable cost 
of mackerel, and the chances of Sal’s having to face a 
westerly squall of wind and rain when she was breasting 
the steep hill rising from Newhaven. Was Sal singing 
that night before the Old Ship ? Or was she in the 
little cul-de-sac near the Town-hall where the public- 
house was that the fishermen called in at on their way 
home ? Nan was apparently dining at the table d'hbte 
of a hotel in Lucerne ; but in reality she spent that 
evening in Brighton. 

And she was still thinking of Brighton when, as has 
been related, there was a migration from the dining 
saloon to the veranda outside ; so that she did not hear 
much of what her sisters were saying. 

“ We are certainly going to have a real thunder-storm 
after the imitation one,” Miss Beresford repeated. 
“ Do you hear that ? ” 

There was a low rumble of thunder ; likewise some 
pattering of rain-drops on the leaves outside. 

“It won’t be half as fine, 'though,” said the musical 
sister. 

There was a sudden white flash of light that re- 
vealed in a surprising manner the sharp outline of 
Pilatus ; then darkness and a crashing peal of thunder. 
The rain began to pour, and some passers-by took 
shelter under the densely foliaged trees fronting the 
gravelled terrace of the hotel. The light that came 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 


5i 


through the tall windows fell on those dark figures ; 
but dimly. 

Nan had been thinking so much of Brighton, and 
Sal, and the downs, and ships and sailors, that when this 
orange glow fell on a gentleman -whom she thought she 
recognized as Lieutenant Frank King, she was scarcely 
astonished. She looke.d hard through the dusk ; yes, 
surely it was he. 

“ Mary,” she said, but without any great interest, 
“ isn’t that Lieutenant King standing by that furthest 
tree ? ” 

The eldest sister also peered through the obscurity. 

“ Well, yes, it is. What an extraordinary thing ! 
Oh, I remember, he said he was going abroad. But 
what a curious coincidence ! Why don’t you go and 
speak to him, Nan?” 

“ Why should I go and speak to him?” said Nan, 
“ I should only get wet.” 

“ What can have brought him here ? ” said Edith. 

“ Not his ship, at all events,” said Mary Beresford, 
smartly. “ It’s only Shakspeare who can create sea- 
ports inland.” 

“You ought to know better than that,” said Nan, 
with some asperity, for she was very valiant in protect- 
ing her intellectual heroes against the attacks of a flip- 
pant criticism. “ You ought to know that at one time 
the kingdom of Bohemia had sea-ports on the Adri- 
atic ; every school-girl knows that nowadays.” 

“ They didn’t when I was at school,” said Mary 
Beresford. “ But aren’t you going to speak to Lieu- 
tenant King, Nan?” 

“ Oh, he won’t want to be bothered with a lot of 
girls,” said Nan ; and she refused to stir. 

A few seconds thereafter, though there was still an 
occasional flash of lightning, the rain slackened some- 


52 


THA T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCH. 


what ; and the young lieutenant, who was clad in a 
travelling suit of gray, by the way, and looked remarka- 
bly like the other young Englishmen loitering about 
the front of the hotel, emerged from his shelter, shook 
the rain-drops from his sleeves, and passed on into the 
dark. 

The very next morning the Beresfords left Lucerne 
for Zurich. They staid there three days — Nan busy 
all the time in teaching herself how to propel a boat 
with two oars, her face to the bow ; and she liked to 
practice most in moonlight. Then they left Zurich 
one afternoon, and made their way southward into the 
mountainous region adjacent to the sombre Wallen- 
See. The stormy sunset deepened and died out ; 
rain, rain, rain pursued them all the way to Chur. 
They got to their hotel there in an omnibus that 
jolted through the mud and the darkness. 

But next morning, when Nan Beresford went to the 
window of the little sitting-room and looked abroad, 
she uttered a cry of surprise, that was also meant as a 
call to wake her sleeping sisters. She stepped out on 
to a wooden balcony, and found herself poised high 
above the flooded river that was roaring down its 
channel, while in front of her was the most vivid and 
brilliant of pictures, the background formed by a vast 
semicircle of hills. She had it all to herself on this 
lovely morning — the fresh air and sunlight ; the plung- 
ing river below ; the terraced gardens on the opposite 
bank ; over that again, the tumbled-about collection of 
gleaming white houses, and green casements, and red 
roofs, and old towers and belfries ; and then, higher 
still, and inclosing, as it were, the picturesque little 
town, the great ethereal amphitheatre of pale blue 
mountains, with here and there a sprinkling of snow 
glittering sharply, as if it were quite close at hand. How 


AUF DER REISE. 


S3 


fresh and cold the morning air was, after the sultry at- 
mosphere of the lakes! How beautiful the snow was ! 
Nan did not like to be alone. She wished to share 
her delight with some one. “Edith! Edith! ’’she 
called. There was no answer. 

Suddenly she found she was no longer the solitary 
possessor of this brilliant little picture. Happening to 
turn her head somewhat, she perceived some one com- 
ing across the bridge, and after a minute’s surprise and 
doubt and astonishment, she convinced herself that 
the stranger was no other than Frank King. The dis- 
covery startled her. This time it could be no mere 
coincidence. Surely he was following them. Could it 
be possible that he had come with bad news from 
Brighton ? 

She did not stay to waken her sisters. She hastily 
went down stairs, and the first person she saw was Lieu- 
tenant King himself, who was calmly looking over the 
list of arrivals. 


CHAPTER VII. 

AUF DER REISE. 

The frank, clear, dark blue eyes of this young lieuten- 
ant were expressive enough ; they said a good deal 
more than he did, when he happened to turn and catch 
sight of her. He, indeed, was surprised and embar- 
rassed ; it was only his eyes that dared to say, “ Oh, how 
glad I am to have found you ! ” 

“ You have no bad news ! ” she said, quickly. “ There 
is no one ill at Brighton ? ” 

“ Qh no,” he said, wondering. 


54 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


Relieved from her sudden fear, she paused, as it were 
to take breath. Her first thought was that her hair 
was far from being properly dressed. Her next, that 
it was annoying to find the commanding officer of one 
of her Majesty’s vessels lounging about the Continent 
like an ordinary tourist. But even in this costume she 
had to admit to herself that he looked handsome and 
clever and distinguished ; moreover, he was so clearly 
glad to see her that she must needs be civil. 

“ I saw you at Lucerne — for a moment,” she said. 
“And when I saw you again just now, from the win- 
dow, I thought you might have a message for us.” 

“ Oh no,” he said. “ But I — I half expected to meet 
you somewhere. Your sister said you were going over 
the Spliigen Pass.” 

“ But what have you done with your ship ? ” she 
asked, still regarding that tourist costume with disap- 
proval. 

“ I am my own master now,” he said ; “ I can take 
my leave any time of the year I like ; and of course 
just now all one’s friends are on the Continent, and — 
and a sailor has so few chances of making friends that 
he doesn’t like to lose them — ” 

“ Then you are with a party ? ” she said, in her down- 
right way. 

“ No,” said he, rather confusedly. “ I — I am alone, 
as it happens. I thought I should like to have a short 
time in Italy. You see, I have never been over one of 
the Passes, and they say the Spliigen is very fine.” 

“Oh, you are going over the Spliigen ? ” she said, 
with wide eyes. 

“ Yes,” he said, unblushingly. “ I suppose you and 
your sisters will be starting from here to-morrow or 
next day ? ” 

“ We start this morning at half-past ten,” said Nan. 


AUF DER REISE. 


55 


“ How very odd ! ” he exclaimed. “ I have got the 
chance of a return-carriage that also leaves this morn- 
ing/’ 

“ I thought gentlemen walked,” said Nan, severely, 
“when they wished to see mountain scenery.” 

“.When they have time, I suppose they do,” he an- 
swered. “ But I have only a few days. I must get 
back to my ship.” 

“ I can’t understand yet how you have left her,” said 
Nan. “ I thought you would take such a pride in your 
own ship. And what need have you of miscellaneous 
friends, when you have your brother officers?” 

“ Ward-room talk is apt to become monotonous. 
Besides, the Fly-by-Night is in dock just now, and I 
needn’t get back until the repairs are done.” 

s Well,” .said Nan, who hoped she had not been rude, 
“the Spliigen Pass doesn’t belong to me, and I have 
no right to object to your crossing.” 

“ Well, that is very kind of you,” said he, laughing. 
And then he said, more seriously: “But don’t think I 
am likely to take any offense, Miss Beresford. I see 
quite clearly what you mean ; and it is very kind of 
you to take any interest in the — in the ship. And I 
wish you would let me send you a photograph of her ; 
they say it is very well done : it is so difficult, don’t 
you know — ” 

It seemed to Nan that this young man was goingto 
stand there talking to her forever ; and she knew that 
his eyes, which were extremely keen and observant, 
were regarding her dishevelled hair. At the best of 
times, order and smoothness had never been the strong 
points of what a Brighton youth had on one occasion 
irreverently termed her wig. She remembered that boy 
and his insolent phrase at this very moment. “ Hallo, 
ginger ' where did you buy your wig ? ” he had called 


56 


THA T BEA UTIFUL WRETCH. 


out. She wished she had taken a minute to consider 
before rushing down stairs. 

“ Will you come and see my sisters after breakfast ?” 
she said, with a wild effort to get away. 

But no ; he continued to talk, in a gentle, familiar, 
submissive way, as if he had known her a very long 
time, and yet did not like to presume on the intimacy. 
And he talked about a good many things (it was as yet 
not eight o’clock, and there was scarcely any one 
about),- though he generally came round to suggesting 
that there were certain favored people in the world 
whose fineness of character was easily apparent. And 
he said that you ought not to lose the chance of secur- 
ing the friendship of such rare mortals: it would be 
one of the joys of life. To be thought well of by peo- 
ple such as they, whose approval was worth something ; 
to be remembered in absence ; to know there were 
some people not fickle, trivial, or insincere. . . . 
In short, he talked about everything and nothing, ap- 
parently for the sole purpose of detaining her, and Nan 
knew that all the time he was looking at those wisps 
and rings of unbridled hair. 

“ Good-by for the present,” she said, holding out her 
hand. 

He held her hand for a second — inadvertently, it 
seemed. 

“ I shall come round about half-past nine to see your 
sisters. It was excessively kind of you to come down ; 
I might have missed you again, as I missed you at 
Lucerne.” 

“ Oh, well,” she said, in the most matter-of-fact way, 
“ I thought it might be more than an accident. Good- 

by.” 

Nan found that her sisters had got up, and were 
nearly ready to come down stairs, so that she must 


AUF DER REISE. 


57 


have been kept talking there for a considerable time. 
At breakfast she remarked casually that Lieutenant 
King was in Chur, and that he was also thinking of 
setting out for Spliigen that morning. Edith, the 
Beauty, opened her brown eyes very wide ; Mary, the 
eldest sister, began to ask a few questions. Presently 
the latter laughed, in her cold way.” 

“It is rather audacious,” she said. “What are we 
to do with him ?” 

“We have nothing whatever to do with him,” said 
Nan, somewhat hotly. 

“ It will be very nice,” said Edith, “ if there is a 
table d' hote in the evening. And if we were to get 
into trouble with the driver, it would be useful to have 
a man near to use bad language.” 

“ Well, we sha’n’t see much of him on the way,” re- 
marked Miss Beresford. “We have four horses; of 
course he will only have two.” 

“ I don’t know,” said Edith. “You may be sure he 
doesn’t live on his lieutenant’s pay. Mamma says the 
Kings of Kingscourt are very rich.” 

“ They say the elder brother has gone fearfully to 
the bad,” said Miss Beresford, in a lower voice. “The 
old people are very proud of this one, and the way he 
has got on in his profession.” 

“Well,” said Edith, “ he is very good-looking, at all 
events. I hope he will come and make up a little 
party at the table d'hote ; it will be an amusement. 
Very good-looking, I call him. It must be his eyes. 
They are very extraordinary, to be so clear and yet so 
dark in the blue : I never saw eyes like that before.” 

Nan, sitting silent and indignant, considered that it 
was more than ridiculous — it was unfeminine — it was 
altogether abominable — for a girl to talk like that 
about a man’s eyes. If she had spoken about the 


58 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


shape of his forehead, and admired that, then that 
would have been sensible enough. But to talk about 
his eyes as if he were a doll — as if he were a wax fig- 
ure in a hair-dresser’s window — as if he were one of 
the idiotic beauty-youths of the King’s Road — that 
stirred her to revolt altogether. But Edith always was 
a gaby. 

At half past nine Frank King called, and was very 
kindly and gravely received by the two elder girls. 
But he made no pretense of being there by accident. 
He said he had remembered Miss Beresford’s telling 
him that they were to cross the Spltigen into Italy ; 
and as he was quite alone, he thought he would choose 
the same route, on the chance of running across them 
somewhere. And they would see something of each 
other on the road. It was true he had only two horses, 
and doubtless they had four ; but the return-carriage 
he had hired was a light little thing, and he had 
scarcely any luggage ; and no doubt he would meet 
them again at lunch. Did they propose to lunch at 
Thusis? It was at Thusis they proposed to lunch. 
He should most likely see them at Thusis ; meantime 
he would only say au revoir. 

So, in due course, the great old-fashioned chariot 
was brought round, the four horses shaking their heads 
and jangling their bells ; and the luggage of the girls, 
which was considerable, was corded on behind ; and 
the maid got on the box ; and then the girls themselves 
appeared and took their places ; and the landlord bowed 
and took off his hat ; and the driver cracked an enor- 
mous whip ; and away they went from Chur along the 
level river valley, by the perpetual maize fields, under 
the gray-scarred mountains. It was a changeable, 
doubtful-looking day, with gleams of sunlight, and sud- 
den darkenings over of rain-cloud ; but the rapid motion 


AUFDER REISE. 


59 


of the comfortable old carriage kept them merry- 
enough. Further and further into the mysterious 
mountain-land they went ; rattling through small towns 
with violently colored frescoes on the walls ; swinging 
along the valley road, with always the turbid, rushing 
river below ; passing innumerable ruined towers perched 
on precipitous crags ; and generally wondering when 
the serious business of climbing the Alps was to begin. 
The mountains had grown grander now ; and there 
were snow-slopes gleaming afar in the wan sunlight. 
It was not a settled sort of sunlight at all. Just as 
they entered Thusis they were caught by a smart 
shower, and were glad to take refuge in the inn. 

Now Miss Beresford had only finished ordering 
luncheon — which she did in excellent German, of a 
clear, hard, Hanoverian kind — when in walked Frank 
King, very pleased to rejoin them, apparently quite de- 
lighted with the rain, and plainly anxious to be allowed 
to join their table. That was what it came to. More- 
over, as luncheon proceeded, the mountains outside 
darkened. 

“ We are in for a bad afternoon,” said he. And then 
he added, in an off-hand way, “ Does your maid speak 
German, Miss Beresford?” 

“ Parsons speaks nothing but English,” said Miss 
Beresford. 

“ And that indifferently,” added Nan. 

“ Oh ! Because, you see, it will be uncommonly 
hard for her to be sitting there till evening, not speak- 
ing a word, and facing pelting rain all the time.” 

“ She can come in beside us,” said Nan promptly. 

“ I was going to suggest,” said he, in the same off- 
hand fashion, “ that — I only mean if it rains — if it 
rains, I was going to suggest, don’t you see, that she 
could have my trap, if she chose, and then — then, if 


6o 


THA T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCH. 


you wouldn’t mind giving me a seat in your carriage, 
which has plenty of room, I should think — ” 

“ It is rather a roundabout way out of the difficulty,” 
said Miss Beresford, laughing. “ But we shall be very 
pleased if you will come into our carriage — if it rains.” 

And it Tdid. It was through streaming window- 
panes that they beheld the gloomy gorge of the Via 
Mala, with the pine-clad mountains rising sheer over- 
head, and far below the thundering of the Rhine along 
the narrow and twisting chasm. It was but vaguely 
that they knew of the wonderful tunnels through the 
rocks, and the overhanging precipices, and the rich- 
colored dripping autumn foliage, and the hideous de- 
clivities that went down to the roaring and swollen tor- 
rent. But it has been remarked before now that in 
the case of driving parties people’s spirits always get 
highest in bad weather. Whether they get into a sort 
of despairing madness, or whether it is out of a reck- 
less defiance, the fact remains that the finest enjoyment 
of a driving trip is experienced in pouring rain. And 
that party of four, within the shut-up old chariot, 
seemed merry enough. Their talking and laughing 
quite drowned the roaring of the river. Nan was a 
trifle silent, perhaps; but then Frank King did talking 
for two ; and he had innumerable adventures and sto- 
ries to tell relating to every corner of the earth. He 
had no longer any official gravity to observe. His 
laughter was so genuine as to be infectious; even Nan 
felt herself smiling, though she thought that the com- 
mander of a man-of-war ought not to go on like this. 
And how could Frank King, who had been practically 
all his life at sea, know so much about the rustics in 
Wiltshire ? How could he have gone through those 
poaching adventures, for example ? She knew that 
Kingscourt was in Wiltshire ; but if, as he had told 


AUF DER REISE. 


61 


her, he was in the navy when the English fleet paid 
its famous visit to Cherbourg, he must have left Wilt- 
shire when he was a very small boy indeed. 

They got higher and higher into the mountains as the 
evening fell, and the mists closed down upon them. 
Outside they heard nothing but the rattle of the rain 
on the top of the carriage, and the tinkle of the horses’ 
bells. By and by the lamps were lit. Later they were 
in absolute darkness, plunging through the streaming 
night. But they were contented enough. 

When the carriage stopped, they were quite sur- 
prised. Spliigen already ? And where was the inn ? 
Frank King sprung out, and found himself in a sort of 
big square, with the rain pelting down, and the build- 
ing opposite him apparently closed. But presently a 
man appeared with a lantern, who informed him that 
they could have beds certainly, but in the dtpendance , 
as the hotel was overcrowded. Then the gentleman 
with the lantern disappeared. 

It was fortunate, indeed, for these young ladies that 
they had a male protector and champion with them ; 
for the bad weather had detained many people ; the 
hotel was crammed full ; and as this was the table 
d'hdte hour, the landlord and all his staff — with every 
disposition in the world to be obliging — were at their 
wits’ end. Every one was wanted in the dining-cham- 
ber: how could any one look after the new arrivals, 
or show them their rooms on the other side of the 
square, or attend to their luggage? Now it was that 
this young sailor began to show a touch of authority. 
First of all, he got the young ladies to descend, and 
bundled them into the little reading-room : that was 
clearing the decks for action. The last they saw of 
him was that he had seized a man by the collar, and 
was quietly but firmly taking him to the door, address- 


62 


THA T BEA UTIFUL WRE TCH. 


ing him the while in an extraordinary mixture of 
French and German concerning luggage, and rooms, 
and the necessity of a lantern to show people across 
the square. In about a quarter of an hour he returned, 
dripping wet. 

“ Well, that’s all settled,” he said, cheerfully, as he 
dried his face with his handkerchief. “I’ve seen the 
rooms — very big, and bare, and cold ; but the best they 
have. And I’ve left Miss Parsons in the kitchen, tear- 
ing her hair over some things that have got wet. And 
I’ve got four places at the table d'hote , which is going 
on. Now if you wish to go and see your rooms and 
dress for dinner, there is a little girl waiting with a lan- 
tern ; or if you prefer going in to the table d'hote at 
once — ” 

“ Oh, certainly,” said Miss Beresford. “ Let us take 
it when we can get it. They won’t mind us going in as 
we are. We all look respectable enough, if it wasn’t 
for Nan’s hair: she must have been asleep.” 

“At all events, you will find it warm in here,” said 
he, leading the way, “ and that’s something. The bed- 
rooms Will make you shiver; they look like a jail; you 
must remember you are up some height now.” 

So crowded and busy was the modest little Speise- 
saal that they entered quite unnoticed, and found them- 
selves relegated to a small side-table at the upper end 
of the room. It was a most comfortable and excel- 
lent arrangement, and the pleasant good-humor that 
had prevailed throughout the afternoon did not desert 
them now. Even Nan began to make little jokes — in 
her quiet way ; and as for Lieutenant Frank King, he 
was so particularly civil to everybody that the land- 
lord himself went away to get the wine he had ordered. 

“ One thing is certain,” said Frank King. “We are 
in a capital position for raking that dinner table from 


AUF DER REISE. 


63 

end to end with criticism. Look at the big man in 
the middle. Did you ever see anybody so pompous, 
and stilted, and portentous? He never speaks. I be- 
lieve he must be first cousin to the Sphinx.” 

“ He is only the centre of gravity — every dinner 
table should have that, you know,” said Nan, shyly. 

He gave her a quick look, and said : 

“ Do you know, Miss Anne, you have made a great 
discovery? You have discovered the raison d' etre of 
stupid people.” 

“ Have I ? ” said Nan, with a laugh. “ Then I must 
be first cousin to M. Jourdain.” 

“ They are the ballast of the social ship, don’t you 
see,” he said, eagerly. “ You can’t sail a ship without 
ballast ; and without the weight of the stupid people 
the feather-headed people — the topsail-headed people 
— would tear everything out of her and send her fly- 
ing. And so you want a good substantial centre of 
gravity at a dinner table, as you say ; a solid root for 
lighter things to branch from ; a buffer coming be- 
tween the electric sparks — ” 

“ 1 am afraid we are getting a little bit mixed,” said 
Mary Beresford, with her cold smile. 

“I wish, Lieutenant King,” said Edith, who was 
just a trifle annoyed, “that you would begin and talk 
to Nan about logarithms and co-sines and triangles 
and things like that. She crushes us, because we don’t 
know. Now we should like to see her found out.” 

“ I am too wise to try anything of the kind,” said 
Frank King, laughing. “ It might be the other way 
round. It is more likely that Miss Nan would find 
me out.” 

So they chatted ; and the evening passed cheerfully 
and pleasantly ; and they retired to rest early, for they 
had to start betimes in the morning. Already Lieu- 


64 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


tenant Frank King seemed quite to belong to the 
party ; it was the most natural thing in the world that 
he should sit at the same table and order things for 
them. And no one noticed — he did not notice it him- 
self — that he had advanced from “ Miss Anne ” to 
“ Miss Nan.” Perhaps he would soon drop the “ miss ” 
altogether ! ” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

SNOW AND MIST AND SUNLIGHT. 

The desolation of that next morning ! A wonder 
of snow outside the windows — the large dark flakes 
slowly, noiselessly passing the panes; snow on the 
open space fronting the great gaunt hostelry ; snow 
on the small spire of the church ; and snow on the far 
reaches of the hills, where every pine-tree was a sharp 
black thing on the broad expanse of white. The girls 
were greatly downcast. They had their breakfast 
brought to them in the big, cold room ; they took it 
hurriedly, with scarcely a word. They saw Parsons 
rushing across the square ; when she came in, there 
were flakes of snow in her hair, and her fingers were 
blue with cold. 

“The English go abroad for pleasure,” said Edith, 
with sarcasm. 

By and by they heard the jingle of the bells outside, 
and on going below they found Frank King in the 
doorway, incased from head to foot in an Ulster. 

“ This is indeed luck — this is great luck,” said he, 
blithely. 

“ Luck, do you call it ? ” said Edith Beresford. 


SNOW AND MIST AND SUNLIGHT 65 

“ Certainly,” said he. “ The first snow of the year. 
Most opportune. Of course you must see the Spliigen 
Pass in snow.” 

“ We sha’n’t see anything,” said Edith, in gloom. 

“ Never mind,” said Miss Beresford, good-naturedly ; 
“ we shall have crossed the Alps in a snow-storm, and 
that sounds well. And I dare say we shall amuse our- 
selves somehow. Do you feel inclined to give up your 
carriage to-day again ? ” 

She had turned to Frank King. There was a smile 
on her face ; for she guessed that it was no great sacri- 
fice on his part. Moreover, she had enjoyed that drive 
the day before ; the presence of a fourth person broke 
the monotony of the talking of three girls together. 
It is needless to add that Frank King eagerly wel- 
comed her proposal, and in due course the two car- 
riages drove away from the big bare hostelry to enter 
the unknown mountain world. 

A strange world they found it, when once they had 
left the level of the little valley, and begun to climb 
the steep and twisting road cut on the face of the 
mountain. The aspect of things changed every few 
minutes, as the rolling mists slowly blotted out this or 
that portion of the landscape, or settled down so close 
that they could see nothing but the wet snow in the 
road, and the black-stemmed pines beyond, with their 
green branches stretching out toward them through 
the pall of cloud. Then sometimes they would look 
down into extraordinary gulfs of mist ; extraordinary 
because, far below them, they would find the top of a 
fir-tree, the branches laden with snow, the tree itself ap- 
parently resting on nothing — floating in mid-air. It was 
a phantasmal world altogether ; the most cheerful 
feature of it being that at last the snow had ceased to 
fall. 


66 


THA T BEA UTIFUL \VRE TCH, 


This decided Nan to get out for a walk. 

“You will be wet through,” her eldest sister ex- 
claimed. 

“ My boots are thick,” said Nan, “and Parsons has 
my water-proof.” 

When she had got down and disappeared, Miss 
Beresford said : 

“ She is a strange girl. She always wants to be 
alone.” 

“ She seems to think a great deal, and she always 
thinks in her own way,” said Frank King. “ No doubt 
she prefers to be alone ; but — but don’t you think 1 
ought to get out and see that she is all right?” 

“ There are no brigands in these mountains, are 
there ? ” said Miss Beresford, laughing. 

“And she can’t lose her way,” said the more serious 
Edith, “ unless she were to fall over the side.” 

“ I think I will get out,” he said ; and he called to 
the driver. 

He found that Nan was already some way ahead — 
or, rather, overhead ; but he soon overtook her. She 
was startled when she saw him, for the snow had 
deadened the sound of his approach. 

“ I believe it will clear soon,” he said, at a ven- 
ture. 

“ It is altogether very strange,” Nan said, in some- 
thing of a lower voice. “ The fir-trees laden with 
snow like that ; the cold, the gloom : it looks like some 
by-gone Christmas come back suddenly. It is strange 
to find yourself in another part of the year : yesterday, 
summer; to-day, winter. I should not be surprised to 
meet a cart filled with holly, or to hear the bells ring- 
ing for morning service.” 

“ You know there are people who never see winter,” 
said he. “ I wonder what it feels like when you move 


SNOW AND MIST AND SUNLIGHT. 


67 


from place to place, so as to live in a perpetual spring 
and summer? ” 

“ I don’t think it can be the real spring,” she said, 
after a second. “ The summer, I suppose, is the same 
everywhere ; it hasn’t the newness and the strangeness 
of the spring. Wouldn’t it be a nice thing, now, to be 
able to take some poor English lady who has been 
compelled to live all the early months of each year in 
the South, among hot-house sort of things, and just to 
show her for a minute a little English village in the 
real springtime, such as she must have known when 
she was a girl, with the daffodils in the cottage-gardens, 
and. the young leaves on the elm and the hawthorn? 
And perhaps a lark would be singing high up ; and 
there might be a scent of wall-flower ; and the children 
coming home with daisy wreaths. She would cry, 
perhaps ; but she would like it better than the hot- 
house flowers and the Riviera. There are some things 
that have a wonderful way of bringing back old memo- 
ries : the first smell of wall-flower in the spring is one ; 
and the first fall of snow in the winter. And there’s 
an old-fashioned kink of musky smell, too, that always 
means Sunday-clothes, and a tall pew, and a village 
choir.” 

“ But you seem to have a strong faculty of associa- 
tion,” said young Frank King, who was far more in- 
terested in Nan than in musk. 

“ I don’t know,” she said, carelessly. “ I don’t study 
myself much. But I know I have a strong bump of 
locality — isn’t that what they call it ? I wish I had 
been born in a splendid place. I wish I had been born 
among great mountains, or among remote sea islands, 
or even beautiful lake scenery ; and I know I should 
have loved my native place passionately, and yearned 
for it ; and I should have thought it was the most 


68 


THA T BE A UT1FUL WRETCH. 


beautiful place in the world — especially when I was 
away from it — for that’s the usual way. But when you 
are born in London and live in Brighton, you can’t 
make much out of that.” 

Then she added, with some compunction : 

“ Not but that I am very fond of the south coast. I 
know it so well ; and of course you get fond of anything 
that you are very intimate with, especially if other peo- 
ple don’t know much about it. And there is far more 
solitariness about the south coast than the people im- 
agine who come down to the Bedford Hotel for a 
week.” 

“ You are a great walker, are you not ? ” he said. 

“ Oh no ; but I walk a good deal.” 

“ And always alone ? ” 

“ Generally. It is very seldom I have a companion. 
Do you know Singing Sal ? ” 

“ Singing Sal? No. How should I? Who is 
she?” 

“A kind of tramping musician,” said Nan, with a 
grave smile. “ She is a friend of the fishermen and 
coast-guardsmen and sailors down there ; I dare say 
some of your men must have heard of her. She is a 
good-looking woman, and very pleasant in her man- 
ner ; and quite intelligent. I have seen her very often ; 
but I never made her acquaintance till the week before 
last.” 

“ Her acquaintance ! ” 

“Yes,” said Nan, simply. “And I mean to renew 
it when I get back, if mamma will let me. Singing 
Sal knows far more about the coast than I do, and I 
want to learn more. . . . Oh, look ! ” 

Both of them had been for some time aware of a 
vague luminousness surrounding them, as if the sun 
wanted to get through the masses of vapor ; but at 


SNOW AND MIST AND SUNLIGHT 69 

this moment she, happening to turn her head, found 
that the wind had in one direction swept away the mist, 
and behold ! far away in the valley beneath them they 
could see the village of Spliigen, shining quite yellow 
in the sunlight. Then the clouds slowly closed over 
the golden little picture, and they turned and walked 
on. But in front of them, overhead, the wind was 
still at work ; and there were threads of keen blue now 
appearing over the twisting vapors. Things began to 
be more cheerful. Both the carriages behind had been 
thrown open. Nan's face looked pink, after one's eyes 
had got so used to the whiteness of the snow. 

“ I suppose there are no people so warmly attached 
to their country as the Swiss are," she said (she was not 
ordinarily a chatter-box, but the cold, keen air seemed to 
have vivified her). “ I am very glad the big thieves 
of the world left Switzerland alone. It would have 
been a shame to steal this little bit from so brave a 
people. Do you know the song of the Swiss soldier 
in the trenches at Strasburg ? I think it is one of the 
most pathetic songs in the world." 

“ No, I don’t," he said. How delighted he was to 
let her ramble on in this way, revealing the clear, beau- 
tiful soul, as Singing Sal might have thought ! 

“ He tells the story himself," she continued. “ It is 
the sound of the Alphorn that has brought this sorrow 
to him, he says. He was in the trenches at night, 
and he heard the sound of the Alphorn far away, and 
nothing would do but that he must try to escape, and 
reach his fatherland by swimming the river. Then he 
is taken, and brought before the officers, and con- 
demned to be shot, and he only asks his brother sol- 
diers to fire straight — But I am not going to spoil it." 

She put her hand up furtively for a second to her 
eyes ; and then she said, cheerfully, 


70 


TEA T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCE. 


“I have had enough walking: suppose we wait for 
the carriage ? ” 

“ I think I ought to apologize to you, Miss Anne/’ 
said he. “ You prefer walking by yourself — I ought 
not to have come and bothered you.” 

“ It is of no consequence, ” said Nan, looking back 
for the carriage, “so long as you haven’t wet your 
feet.” 

They got into the carriage and continued on their 
way ; and very soon it became apparent, from the 
flashes of sunlight and gleams of blue, that they had 
worked their way up through the cloud layers. In 
process of time, indeed, they got clear of the mists 
altogether, and emerged on to the higher valleys of 
the Alps — vast, sterile, the white snow plains glitter- 
ing in the sun, except where the rocks showed through 
in points of intense black. There were no longer any 
pines. They were in a world of snow and barren 
rocks and brilliant sunlight, with a cold, luminous 
blue sky overhead, themselves the only living creatures 
visible, their voices sounding strangely distinct in the 
silence. 

When they were quite at the summit of the pass, a 
smurr, as they say in Scotland, came over; but it did 
not last. By the time they had got the drags on the 
wheels, the vast gorge before them — descending and 
winding until it disappeared in a wall of mountains of 
the deepest blue — was again filled with sunlight ; and 
now they began to be a little bit sheltered from the 
wind as the horses trotted and splashed through the 
wet snow, carrying them away down into Italy. 

They lunched at Campo Dolcino, still some thousands 
of feet above the level of the sea. Then on again, . 
swinging away at a rapid pace down into a mighty 
valley: rattling- through galleries cut in the solid rock; 


SNOW AND MIS T AND SUNLIGHT, 


7 * 


then out again into the grateful sunlight ; taking the 
sharp curves of the road at the same break-neck speed ; 
with always below them — and so far below them that 
it was silent — a rushing river sweeping down between 
fair pastures and dots of villages. As the evening fell, 
this clatter of hoofs and wheels came to a sudden end ; 
for they were entering the town of Chiavenna, and 
there you must go at a walking pace through the nar- 
row little thoroughfares. It was strange for them to 
come down from the snow-world into this ordinary lit- 
tle town, and to find in the hotel not only all sorts of 
products of a high civilization, but even people who 
were speaking the familiar English tongue. 

There was a telegram addressed “ Lieutenant F. H. 
King, R.N.,” in the case in the bureau. When Frank 
King had got it out and read it, he was silent for a sec- 
ond or two. 

“ I hope there is no bad news? ” said Miss Beresford, 
in a kindly way. 

She was not a very sympathetic person, but Frank 
King had brightened up their tour during these last 
Jtwo days, and she was in a measure grateful to him. 

“ No,” he said, absently. “ Oh no, not bad news. 
The telegram is from the officer I left in charge of the 
Fly-by-Night. I rather think that I shall be setting 
out for home again in a couple of days.” 

“ Oh, I am sorry for that,” she said, quite naturally. 

“You go on again to-morrow, Miss Beresford?” 

“ We were proposing'to do so.” 

“ And where do you think of going to when you 
get to Lake Como?” 

“ Bellagio, most probably.” 

“ Oh, well, I will go with you as far as Bellagio, if I 
may,” he said, somewhat thoughtfully. 


72 


THA T BE A UTTFUL WRE TCH. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE SERENATA. 

Next morning also he was preoccupied and anxious, 
insomuch that even Nan noticed it, and good-naturedly 
hoped he had had no bad news. He started somewhat. 

“No, oh no,” he said. “ Only the telegram I got 
last night makes it necessary for me to start for home 
to-morrow.” 

“ Then, at least,” said Nan, cheerfully, ‘‘you will see 
Lake Como before you go.” 

Her elder sister smiled in her superior way. 

“ Nan’s head is full of romance,” she said. “ She 
expects to see the Como of the print-shops : don’t you, 
Nan? Blue water and golden boats and pink hills, 
and Claude Melnotte’s castle lifting its — whatever was 
it ? — —to eternal summer. I am afraid the quotation is 
not quite correct.” 

And the truth was that, despite this warning, Nan 
did seem somewhat disappointed when, after hours of 
rattling and splashing along a muddy road, they came 
upon a stretch of dirty, chalky-green water that in a 
manner mirrored the gray and barren crags above it. 

“ That isn’t Como ! ” cried Nan. “ It can’t be.” 

“ Oh, but it is,” Miss Beresford said, laughing. “ At 
least it’s the upper end of it.” 

But Nan would not believe it ; and when at last they 
reached Colico, and fought their way through the 
crowd of swarthy good-for-nothings who strove to at- 
tach themselves to every scrap of luggage, and when 
they had got on board the steamer and secured com- 
manding positions on the upper deck, then Nan de- 
clared that they were about to see the real Lake of 


THE SERENATA. 


Como. It was observed that the young sailor glanced 
once or twice rather anxiously at the sky and the 
seething clouds. 

Well, they sailed away down through this stretch of 
pallid green water, that was here and there ruffled with 
wind, and here and there smooth enough to reflect the 
silver-gray sky ; and they called at successive little vil- 
lages ; and they began to be anxious about a cer- 
tain banking up of purple clouds in the southwest. 
They forgot about the eternal summer, and got out 
their water-proofs. They were glad to find themselves 
drawing near to Bellagio, and its big hotels, and vilkis, 
and terraced gardens. The wind had risen ; the driven 
green water was here and there hissing white ; and 
just as they were landing, a pink flash of lightning 
darted across that dense wall of purple cloud, and there 
was a long and reverberating rattle of thunder. 

“ It seems to me we have just got in in time/' said 
Frank King, in the hall of the hotel. 

The storm increased in fury. The girls could scarce- 
ly dress for dinner through being attracted to the win- 
dow by the witches’ cantrips outside. The thunder- 
blackness in the southwest had deepened ; the wind was 
whirling by great masses of vapor, the water was spring- 
ing high along the terraces, and the trees in the ter- 
raced gardens were blown this way and that, even 
though their branches were heavy with rain. Then it 
was that Edith Beresford said : 

“ Nan, you ought to persuade Lieutenant King to 
stay over another day. He hasn’t seen Como. This 
isn’t Como.” 

“ I ? ” said Nan, sharply. “ What have I to do with 
it ? He can go or stay as he pleases.” 

“ Besides,” continued Edith, “ in consequence of 
this tempo cattivo — ” 


74 


THA T BEA UTIFUL WRE TCH. \ 


“ I suppose that means weather that rains cats and 
dogs,” said Nan, whose anger was of the briefest dura- 
tion. 

“ — the grand Serenata is put off till to-morrow night. 
Now he ought to stay and see the illuminations of the 
boats.” 

“ The illuminations ! ” said Nan. “ I should think 
he had something else to think of.” 

Nevertheless, when, at dinner, Miss Edith was good 
enough to put these considerations before Lieutenant 
King, he seemed very anxious to assent ; and he at 
once called for a time table ; and eventually made out 
that by taking the night train somewhere or other, he 
could remain at Bellagio over the next day. And he 
was rewarded, so far as the weather went. The morn- 
ing was quite Como-like — fair and blue and calm ; the 
sun shining on the far wooded hills and on the spark- 
ling little villages at their foot; the green lake still 
running high, with here and there a white tip break- 
ing; a blaze of sunlight on the gardens below — on the 
green acacia branches and the masses of scarlet salvia 
— and on the white hot terraces where the lizards lay 
basking. 

It was a long, idle, delicious day ; and somehow he 
contrived to be near Nan most of the time. He was 
always anxious to know what she thought about this 
or about that ; he directed her attention to various 
things ; he sometimes talked to her about his ship, and 
about what sailors thought of when they were far 
from home and friends. They went out on the lake — 
these four: the hot sun had stilled the water some- 
what. Reclining in the cushioned stern of the boat, in 
the shelter of the awning, they could hear the bells on 
shore faint and distant. Or they walked in that long al- 
lee leading from one end of the gardens, the double line 


THE SERENA TA. 


75 


of short chestnuts offering cool and pleasant shadow, 
the water lapping along the stone parapet beside them, 
and between each two of the stems a framed picture, 
as it were, of the lake and the velvet-soft slopes beyond. 
It was all very pretty, they said. It was a trifle com- 
monplace, perhaps ; there were a good many hotels 
and little excursion steamers about ; and perhaps here 
and there a suggestion of the toy-shop. But it was 
pretty. Indeed, toward sunset it was very nearly be- 
coming something more. Then the colors in the skies 
deepened ; in the shadows below, the villages were lost 
altogether ; and the mountains, growing more and 
more sombre under the rich gold above, began to be 
almost fine. One half forgot the cockneyism and fa- 
miliarity of the place, and for a moment had a glimpse 
of the true loneliness and solemnity of the hills. 

As the dusk fell, they began to bethink themselves 
of what was before them. 

“ It would have been a bad thing for the musicians 
from La Scala if they had attempted to go out last 
evening,” Miss Beresford remarked. 

“ It will be a bad thing for us,” said Edith, who was 
the musical one, “ if we attempt to go on board their 
steamer this evening. It will be far tocr loud. You 
should never be too near. And especially where there 
is water, music sounds so well at some distance.” 

You can hire a small boat, then,” said Nan. “ They 
are all putting up their Chinese lanterns.” 

“Oh, I. wouldn’t advise that,” said Frank King, 
quickly. “ I don’t think it would be safe.” 

“ A sailor afraid of boats ! ” said Miss Edith, with a 
laugh. 

“Oh, as for that,” said Nan, warmly, “every one 
knows that it’s those who are most ignorant of boats 
who are most reckless in them. It’s very easy to be 


76 


TEA T BE A UTIFOL WRE TCH . 


brave if you’re stupidly ignorant. I know papa used 
to say it was always the most experienced sportsman 
who took most care about unloading his gun on going 
into a house. Why, if you’re walking along the Pier, 
and see some young fools standing up in a boat and 
rocking it until the gunwale touches the water, you 
may be sure they’re haberdashers down from the Bor- 
ough for a day, who have never been in a boat before.” 

In the dusk they could not see that Frank King’s face 
flushed with pleasure at this warm defence; but he 
only said, quietly : 

“ You see, there will be ten or twelve steamers churn- 
ing about in the dark ; and if some careless boatman 
were to make a mistake, or lose his head, you might be 
under the paddles in a second. I think you should 
either get on board or stay ashore ; and I should say 
you were as well off here as anywhere. You will see 
the procession on the lake very well ; and even if 
they should halt over there at Cadenabbia for the 
music, we could hear it here excellently.” 

“It is very good advice, Edith,” said Miss Beres- 
ford, seriously. “ I don’t at all like small boats. And 
there goes the first dinner-bell: so let’s make haste.” 

At dinner Frank King did not say much ; he seemed 
to be thinking of his departure on the morrow. Once, 
however, when they happened to be talking about 
Brighton, he looked across the table to Nan, and said, 

“ Oh, by the way, what was the name of the woman 
you told me about — whom you met on the downs? ” 

“ Singing Sal,” answered Nan, with composure. 

“ I shall ask about her when I get to Portsmouth,” 
he said. 

“ She is seldom in the big towns ; she prefers tramp- 
ing by herself along the country roads.” 

“Is this another of Nan’s prottgts?" asked Miss 


THE SERENA TA. 


77 


Beresford. “ She knows the most extraordinary peo- 
ple. She is like the children when they are sent down 
to the beach when the tide is low : they are always 
most delighted with the monsters and hideous things 
they can pick up.” 

“ You must have seen Singing Sal,” said Nan, quietly. 
k< And she is neither monstrous nor hideous. She is 
very well dressed, and she sings with a great deal of 
feeling.’.’ 

“ Perhaps she will come and have afternoon tea with 
us ? ” said Edith, with a sarcastic air. 

“ I don’t think she would find it interesting enough,” 
Nan answered. 

When, after dinner, they went out on to the balcony 
above the garden, they found that the wonders of the 
night had already begun. Far on the other side of the 
lake the houses of Cadenabbia were all ablaze with 
millions of small gold points, the yellow glow from 
which glimmered down on the black water. Then in 
the garden here there were rows upon rows of Chinese 
lanterns, of all colors, just moving in the almost imper- 
ceptible breeze ; while along the shore the villas had 
their frontage walls decorated with brilliant lines of 
illuminated cups, each a crimson, or white, or emerald 
star. Moreover, at the steps of the terrace below, there 
was a great bustle of boats ; and each boat had its pink 
paper lantern glowing like a huge fire-fly in the dark- 
ness ; and there was a confusion of chaffering and call- 
ing, with brightly dressed figures descending by the 
light of torches, and disappearing into the unknown. 
Then these boats began to move away, with their glow- 
worm lanterns swaying in the black .night. The hotel 
seemed almost deserted. There was silence along the 
shores. 

By and by, at a great distance, they beheld a won- 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


? 8 

derful thing come slowly into view — far away in the 
open space of darkness that they knew to be the lake. 
It was at first only a glow of crimson ; but as it came 
nearer, this glow separated into points, each point a 
ruby-colored shaft of fire, and they saw that this must 
be a steamer illuminated by red lamps. And then 
another steamer, and another, came sailing up, with 
different colors gleaming ; until one, far higher than 
the others — a great mass of glittering gold- — appeared 
in the midst of them, and round this all the fleet of 
small boats, that were, of course, only distinguishable 
by their party-colored lanterns, seemed to gather. 

“ That is the steamer that has the musicians, clearly,’ ’ 
said Frank King. 

“Yes; but I don’t hear any music,” answered Edith, 
in a voice that seemed rather ominous. 

They sat and waited. The last of the guests had 
got into the small boats and gone away ; they were left 
alone in front of the big hotel. The moon was rising 
behind the hills in the south, and already the surface 
of the lake was beginning to declare itself — a dull blue- 
black. 

“ I can not hear the least sound : is it possible they 
can be playing ? ” said Edith, disappointedly. 

It was a beautiful spectacle, at all events, even if 
there were no sound accompanying it. For now the 
moon had risen clear, and there was a pale soft light 
all along the northern hills, and just enough radiance 
lying over the bosom of the lake to show the darkness 
of the hulls of the distant steamers. And then, as 
they watched, some order seemed to grow out of that 
confusion of colored lights ; the high golden mass 
drew away, and then the others followed, until the 
long undulating line seemed like some splendid meteor 
in the night. There was no sound. Cadenabbia, with 


THE SERENA TA. 


79 


all its yellow fire, was as clearly deserted as this Bella- 
gio here, with all its paper lanterns and colored cups. 
The procession had slowly departed. The Serenata 
was taking place somewhere else. The gardens of this 
hotel were silent but for the occasional voices of Frank 
King and his companions. 

Well, they laughed away their disappointment, and 
chatted pleasantly, and enjoyed the beautiful night, 
until Miss Beresford thought it was time for them to 
go indoors. 

“ But where’s Nan? ” she said. “ That girl is never 
to be found.” 

,k I think I can find her,” said Frank King, rising 
hastily. He had been regarding for some time back 
that long allee between the chestnuts, and a dark fig- 
ure there that was slowly pacing up and down, occa- 
sionally crossing the patches of moonlight. When he 
had got about half way along, he found Nan leaning 
with her elbows on the parapet, and looking out on 
the moonlit lake. 

“ Oh, Miss Anne,” he said, “your sister wants you 
to come in-doors.” 

“ All right,” she said, cheerfully, raising herself and 
preparing to go. 

“ But I want to say a word to you,” he said, hurriedly. 
“ I have been trying for an opportunity these two days. 
1 hope you won’t think it strange, or premature, or im- 
pertinent — ” 

“Oh, no,” said Nan, with a sudden fear of she knew 
not what ; “but let us go in-doors.” 

“No, here now,” he pleaded. “Only one moment. 
I know we are young. Perhaps I should not ask you 
to pledge yourself, but all I ask for is to be allowed to 
hope. Surely you understand. Nan, will you be my 
wife — some day ? ” 


U THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 

He would have taken her hand ; but she withdrew 
quickly, and said, with a sort of gasp : 

“ Oh, I am so sorry ! I had no idea. It must be my 
fault, I am sure ; but I did not know — I was not think- 
ing of such a thing for a moment — ” 

“ But you will give me leave to hope ? ” he said. “ I 
mean some day — not now.” 

“ Oh, no, no,” she said, with an earnestness that was 
almost piteous. “ If I have made a mistake before, 
this must be clear now. Oh, don’t think of such a 
thing. It never could be — never, never. I am very 
sorry if I have pained you. But — but you don’t know 
anything about me ; and you will soon forget, for we 
are both far too young — at least I am — to think of 
such things; and — and I am very, very sorry.” 

But do you mean that I am never to think of it 
again, even as a hope ? ” he said, slowly. 

“Oh, I do mean that — I do! If there has been a 
mistake, let it be clear now. Can I not be your friend ? ” 

She held out her hand. After a second or so of hesi- 
tation, he took it. 

“ I know more of you than you suspect,” he said, 
slowly, and with a touch of hopelessness in his voice. 

“ I could see what you were the first half-hour I had 
spoken to you. And I know you know your own mind, 
and that you are sincere. Well, I had hoped for some- 
thing else ; but even your friendship will be valuable 
to me — when I have had a little time to' forget.” 

“ Oh, thank you — thank you ! ” said Nan, a little in- 
coherently. “I know you will be wise. You have 
your profession to think of : that is of far more impor- 
tance. I know you will be wise — and generous too, 
and forgive me if the fault has been mine. Now we 
will not speak of any such thing again ; let it be as if it 
had never been. Come.” 


JINNY. 


Si 


He pressed her hand in silence — it was a token of 
good-by. These two did not see each other again for 
more than three years. 


CHAPTER X. 

JINNY. 

ONE night toward the end of that interval a strange 
scene occurred in the old manor-house of Kingscourt, 
Wiltshire. From an early part of the evening it was 
apparent that something unusual was about to take 
place : the sleepy old mansion was all astir ; a big fire 
blazed in the fireplace of the hall ; and even the long 
corridor, which was in effect a picture-gallery, and or- 
dinarily looked rather grim with its oak panelling and 
dusky portraits and trophies of arms, had been so bril- 
liantly lit up that it seemed almost cheerful. 

There was no cheerfulness, however, on the face of 
, the lord of the manor himself ; and there was nothing 
^ but a keen and anxious sympathy in the regard of his 
friend the vicar, who had come to keep him company. 
The former, Stephen Holford King, was a hale old 
man of over seventy, with a smoothly shaven face 
grown red with exposure to the weather, silvery, short- 
cropped hair, and fine, impressive features. His old 
college friend, the Rev. Mr. Lynnton, was a smaller 
man, and somewhat younger, though his pale face had 
a sad expression, as though he had come through much 
trouble. He also was clean shaven, which added char- 
acter to his clear-cut features. His chest was narrow, 
and he stooped a little. 

“ It is kind of you to come early, vicar,” said the 


*2 THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 

taller man, who seemed much agitated, in spite of his 
outwardly firm demeanor. “ It will be a terrible or- 
deal for my poor wife. I wish the evening were over. 

“You must face it like a man, friend King,” said the 
other. “You have acted rightly, great as the pain 
must be to yourself. It is the young man’s last chance ; 
and surely he accepts it, or he would not be coming 
at all. And — she — also.” 

“ If only he hadn’t married her ! — if only he hadn’t 
married her ! She might have ruined him in pocket, 
as she has ruined others before; but- — to come in 
here — ” 

He glanced at the portraits along the walls ; he 
seemed scarcely to know what he was saying. 

“You might preach a sermon from what I am suffer- 
ing now, vicar. Oh, I deserve it My pride has been 
taken down at last. But the punishment is hard.” 

“ Pardon me, friend King ; but you exaggerate, 
surely. Surely a certain measure of family pride is 
justifiable ; it ought to nerve a man to be worthy of 
those who have gone before him. Nor have I ever 
thought that your feeling about your name being a 
heritage that you had to guard jealously and piously 
was otherwise than just.” 

“ Five centuries, vicar — for five centuries the Kings 
of Kingscourt, whether knights or commoners, have 
been gentlemen — gentlemen every man of them ; and 
this is the end ! ” 

“ But even now, old friend, you must not look at the 
blackest side of things. Alfred may requite you yet 
by his conduct for the tremendous sacrifice you and 
Mrs. King are making. He has committed a social 
crirQe ; but surely that is better than living in sin.” 

“ Vicar, I know you have tried to look only at the 
cheerful side of things — as far as your cloth will per- 


JINNY. 


§3 


mit ; and I trust in God that something may yet come 
of it. But if not — if this last appeal to him produces 
nothing more than the others — then there is a final 
alternative that may help me to save Kingscourt and 
the family name.” 

“ What is that ? ” his friend said, eagerly. 

“ I will not speak of it now. We must hope for the 
best.” 

At this moment there was heard the rumbling of 
carriage wheels outside, and the old man started. 

“ Come, let us go into the hall,” he said, quickly. 
And then he added, in a lower and agitated voice, 

“ Vicar, do you think my poor wife will — will have to 
kiss this woman ? That is what she dreads. That is 
what terrifies her.” 

The pale-faced clergyman seemed embarrassed, and 
said, hastily : 

“ There will be some confusion, no doubt. Come, 
friend King, pull yourself together. You are welcom- 
ing home your son and his newly married wife, remem- 
ber.” 

The great bell rang ; the servants swarmed into the 
hall ; the door was opened ; and outside in the dark- 
ness the carriage lamps were visible, shining down on 
the broad steps. At the same moment a lady came 
along from the corridor — a tall elderly woman, with a 
pale, sweet face, quite white hair done up in old-fash- 
ioned little curls, and with eyes of a sad, benign expres- 
sion. She seemed to be very pleased and cheerful : 
it was only the vicar, who shook hands with her, who 
knew that her whole frame was trembling. 

“ So you have come to welcome home the bride, Mr. 
Lynnton,” she said, in a clear voice, so that every one 
could hear. “ Alfred will be pleased to see you again 


THA T BE A UTIFUL WRETCH. 


84 

after his long absence. They say that being so much 
abroad has greatly improved him.” 

“ It could not well improve his appearance, Mrs. 
King; he was always a handsome lad,” said the vicar, 
his eyes still turned toward the door. 

This was, indeed, a strikingly handsome man who 
now came up the steps, taller and more massive than 
his brother Frank, lighter also in hair and eyes. At 
this first glance one scarcely noticed that his face was 
somewhat flushed, and that the light blue eyes had a 
sort of uncertain, nervous throb in them. 

“ My wife, mother.” 

The vicar stared with astonishment. This pretty, 
bright-faced little thing did not look more than eight- 
een or nineteen, though in fact she was five-and. 
twenty ; and in her tight-fitting Ulster, and plain gray 
hat, and quiet yellow-gray gloves, she looked the very 
embodiment of girlish grace and neatness and decorum. 

The white-haired woman took this new visitor by 
both hands. 

“ I am glad you have come, my dear,” said she, with- 
out any quaver of the voice ; and she kissed her first on 
one cheek, and then on the other. “ But you must be 
tired with your long journey. Come, I will show you 
your dressing-room ; they have taken some tea up for 
you.” 

“ And to-night we dine at seven, my dear,” said the 
father of the house, addressing her at the same time, 
“ for we thought you might be hungry after your jour- 
ney. So don’t take too much time in dressing, my 
dear: we are plain folks. We will see all your finery 
another night. Higgins, have Mrs. Alfred’s boxes 
taken up at once.” 

Mrs. Alfred meanwhile stood looking a little puzzled, 


JINNY. 


■'5 


a little amused, but not at at all shy. She seemed to 
Consider it rather a good joke. 

“Go on, Jinny,” her husband said to her, lazily. 
“ I sha’n’t dress.” 

“That is an old privilege of Alfred’s, my dear,” 
said Mrs. King, leading the new-comer away. “ His 
father, now, hasn’t missed dressing for dinner one 
evening since we were married — except the night the 
Vicarage took fire. But I suppose young men are 
not so ceremonious now. Here is your room, my 
dear. Catherine is bringing some hot water, and she 
will open your boxes for you.” 

And the old lady herself went and stirred up the 
fire, and drew the low easy-chair nearer to the little 
table where the tea-things were, and continued talk- 
ing in the kindliest way to her new guest until the maid 
arrived. Mrs. Alfred had said nothing at all ; but she 
seemed contented — and amused. 

At seven o’clock every one had assembled in the 
drawing-room except Mrs. Alfred. The vicar’s wife 
had arrived ; she was a stout, anxious-eyed little wom- 
an, who was obviously alarmed, and talked much to 
assure those around her that she was quite at ease. Mr. 
Alfred himself was lazy, good-natured, indifferent — he 
had drank two or three glasses of sherry meanwhile to 
pass the time. 

Punctually at seven Mrs. Alfred appeared. She 
looked more prim and nice and neat than ever in this 
black silk dress with old lace on the open square in 
front and on the cuffs of the tight sleeves. 

“ Mrs Lynnton — my daughter Jinny,” said the old 
white-haired lady, introducing the new-comer to the 
vicar’s wife. 

Dinner was announced, and the big folding-doors 
thrown open. 


S6 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


“ My dear,” said Mr. King to his wife, “ I must take 
in Mrs. Alfred. It is a welcome home, you know. 
Alfred, you take in Mrs. Lynnton. Come along, 
child.” 

And he gave her his arm with great ceremony, and 
led her into the long, old-fashioned dining-room, which 
was a blaze of candles, and gave her the seat at his 
right hand, and immediately called for a fire-screen 
lest the fire should be too much. 

“Or will you sit the other side, my dear?” said 

he. 

“ Oh no sir,” she said, very prettily, out of compli- 
ment to his age — “ oh no, sir ; I am best pleased to 
sit where you wish me to sit.” 

For by this time the amused look had gone out of 
her face, and she seemed to have grown sensible of 
her great kindness these people were trying to show 
her. 

Dinner went on ; and the conversation rested mainly 
between Mr. Alfred, who was asking questions about 
the people in the neighborhood, and the vicar, who an- 
swered him. But when anything amusing was said, it 
was addressed to Mrs. Alfred, or else they looked to 
see whether she was pleased ; and she received a 
great deal of attention from the old gentleman next 
her, and had many kind things said to her by his wife. 
But Mrs. Alfred’s face grew more and more strange. 
She seemed depressed and troubled — timid at the 
same time and self-conscious ; once or twice her lips 
were tremulous. And then all at once she rose, and, 
quickly went to where Mrs. King sat, and threw herself 
on her knees, and clasped the old lady’s knee, and 
burst into a wild fit of sobbing and crying. The old 
lady turned very pale, and put her hand on the younger 


JINNY. 87 

woman’s head gently. The servants pretended to see 
nothing. Mr. Alfred flushed angrily, and said : 

“ Jinny, don’t make a fool of yourself. Go back to 
your seat.” 

Then the elder woman raised her, with a tenderness 
and compassion not altogether assumed, and led her 
back, saying: 

“You are tired, my dear. I thought you looked 
tired, my dear. We will let you go soon to bed to- 
night.” 

Then everybody talked at once ; and the little inci- 
dent seemed easily forgotten. Moreover, as the even- 
ing progressed, old Stephen King convinced himself 
that he had done what was best for the by-gone Kings 
of Kingscourt, and any Kings of Kingscourt there 
might be. He would pay off his son’s debts once 
more. These two would be content to remain for 
years in the country, till by-gones should be by-gones 
elsewhere ; and even in the country the neighbors 
might pretend to a convenient ignorance. The vicar 
would help him. 

The vicar and his wife left about ten ; Mr. and Mrs. 
Alfred retired early; the various agitations that had 
shaken the old silver-haired dame gave place to a qui- 
escence that was in a measure hopeful. Then sleep 
overtook the old manor-house, and the silence of the 
night. 

About midnight there was a loud crash in the dining- 
room. Certain of the servants slept on the ground- 
floor for safety’s sake ; and the first one — indeed, the 
only one — to be thoroughly aroused by this sudden 
noise was the butler, a young man who had inherited 
the position from his father. He jumped up, hastily 
donned some clothes, and carried a light along to the 
room, wisely thinking that if it was only a picture that 


3S THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 

had fallen, he need not alarm the whole household. 
At the same time he went cautiously, for he did not 
wish to be seized by the throat unawares. 

He found the dining-room door open, and some- 
thing in the dark inside lying prone on the floor. He 
pushed forward his candle, and to his horror found it 
was Mrs. Alfred, who was slowly raising herself by both 
hands. 

*• Oh, ma’am, what has happened ? ” he cried. 

“ Be quiet. Where’s the brandy ? ” she said, angrily ; 
and then she put her hand to the side of her forehead. 
“ I’ve struck my head against something.” 

This young man was a miracle of discretion, but he 
was startled. She did not talk incoherently, and yet 
she could not rise. 

“ Is it Mr. Alfred, ma’am? Shall I take him some 
brandy? I hope he isn’t ill, ma’am?” he said, in a 
breath. 

“Mr. Alfred, you fool! He’s been dead drunk in 
bed for more than an hour. Where’s the brandy? 
Why don’t you leave the spirit-stand out, you miserly 
thief?” 

Then he saw how matters stood ; and though he 
was frightened a little, he was prudent. He went and 
got some brandy and water in a tumbler ; he coaxed 
her to go up stairs ; he assisted her up ; and then hav- 
ing put her quietly into her room, he returned down 
stairs, and locked the dining-room door, putting the 
key in his pocket. 

This incident the young butler kept discreetly to 
himself; he was not going to imperil his situation by 
telling such a story about his future master and mis- 
tress. All the same, the old father and mother began 
to grow very uneasy. Mrs. Alfred was too unwell to 
appear next day, nor would she see any one. She 


JINNY. 


So 


wanted brandy, however, to keep her system up. The 
following day the same legend was repeated. On 
the evening of that day Alfred King sought out his 
father in the study, and said he wanted to speak to 
him. 

“ Look here, father, it’s no use. I’ll tell the truth. 

I came down here to humbug you, and get some more 
money out of you. But what’s the good? If Jinny 
had the wealth of the Rothschilds, she’d run through it 
in a fortnight; and then her first trick would be to cut 
me. Oh, I know her ; she’s not a bad sort ; but she’s 
been brought up to be what she is; and she doesn’t 
mean anything shabby, anything more than a cat thinks 
itself cruel when it plays with a mouse. Well, no 
matter.” 

He rang the bell, ordered some brandy and soda, 
and continued : 

“ Now, I’ve got some pride in the old place too, 
father: I don’t want to see Jinny send Kingscourt 
spinning the moment you die. Well, this is what I 
propose. I’m no good. I’m played out. I’ve had 
my turn. Well, now if you’ll clear off my debts this 
time, and start me free with £5000 — giving it in trust 
to somebody, so that I can have my £ 200 or £250 
a year — then I’ll consent to quash the entail ; you 
bring home Frank, and give him Kingscourt. That’s 
better than being a sailor, and he’ll look after the old 
place.” 

The old man regarded him calmly, but also with a 
strange, sad look. 

“ I had thought of it. But is there qo other way, 
Alfred ? ” 

“ No. I’m broke. I’m done. If you want to save 
Kingscourt, that’s the only way.” 

“ And you ? ” 


90 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH 


“ I’ve had my turn ; I can’t complain. Sooner ot 
later Jinny’ll bolt. Then I’ll go to the States and try 
my hand at something.” 

“Do you know they’ve just made Frank comman- 
der?” 

“ He’ll be glad to leave the navy, all the same. 
Fellows can’t marry while they’re in the navy.” 

“ What are your debts now, Alfred ? ” 

Here the brandy and soda was brought in, which 
gave him time to think. 

“ I don’t know exactly. Two brutes have got hold 
of me. I should fancy they could all be choked off 
with £8000 — say £9000.” 

“ £14,000 — it will be a heavy charge on the estate.” 

“ But I shall be off it. What’s more, father, if Frank 
comes home, and gets married, and plays the good boy, 
and all that kind of thing, don’t let him get it into his 
head that I am jealous of him, or that I think he has 
supplanted me. Frank is a fine chap. Tell him it was 
my proposal ; and I hope he’ll be a better son to you 
than I have been. Well, is it a bargain, father?” 

The old man thought for some time, and at length 
said, 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, then, there’s another thing. Jinny’s stum- 
bled against something, and got a black eye. Let’s 
get her out of the house without the servants seeing 
her — this evening, after dusk. And I’ll meet you any 
day you like at Shaen & Maskell’s.” 

This, then, was how it came about that Commander 
Francis Holford King, R. N., was summoned home 
from the West Indies, where he had been with his ship, 
the Hellespont. He was grave for his years ; and he 
was more manly in figure somehow, and certainly 
browner of face, than when we last saw him at Bellagio, 


TRANSFORMA TIOA . 


V 


on Lake Como; but as he sailed past the Eddystone 
Light and entered the smooth waters of Plymouth 
Sound, there was something within him that told him 
his heart had not quite forgot all its old memories. 


CHAPTER XI. 

TRANSFORMATION. 

Captain Frank was everything and did everything 
that his parents could have hoped for — except in one 
direction : he would have nothing said about marriage. 
He came home without a murmur ; he never uttered a 
word of regret about his giving up a profession that he 
had fair hopes of advancement in ? he adopted his new 
set of duties with cheerfulness, and entered with zest 
into the festivities of the season. For the leaf was 
beginning to fall, and all the people about were prepar- 
ing to shoot the covers ; so that parties had to be made 
up, and invitations issued, and there- soon came to be 
a general stir throughout the country-side. Captain 
Frank, though he was not much of a shot, took his 
share in all these things ; but he held aloof from wom- 
ankind, and would not have his marriage even spoken 
of by his most intimate relatives. 

What was the man made of, that he could resist a 
scene like this ? Imagine an open glade in a beautiful 
'Wiltshire wood, on the morning after a slight fall of 
snow. The skies are blue, and the world is full of clear 
sunlight ; the hollies are intensely green over the white 
of the snow ; here and there on the bare branches are 
a few red leaves. Also on the snow itself there is a 
‘.tain of brownish-red in some places, where the ligdit 


92 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH 


air of the morning has shaken down withered needles 
from a tall pine-tree. Then there is a distant, sharp 
flutter; the noise increases ; suddenly a beautiful thing 
— a meteor of bronze and crimson — comes whirring 
along at a tremendous pace; Captain Frank blazes 
away with one barrel, and misses ; before he knows 
where he is, the pheasant seems a couple of miles off 
in the silver and blue of the sky, and he does not care 
to send the second barrel on a roving commission. 
He puts his gun over his shoulder, and returns to his 
pensive contemplation of the glittering green hollies, 
and the white snow, and the maze of bare branches 
going up into the blue. 

But a new figure appears in the midst of this English- 
looking scene. A very pretty young lady comes along 
smiling, her pink cheeks looking all the pinker and her 
blue eyes all the bluer because of the white snow, and 
also the white fur round her neck. This is pretty 
Mary Coventry, who is staying at present at Kings- 
court. She has the brightest of smiles, and the whitest 
of teeth. 

“Cousin Frank,” she says, “where do you gentle- 
men lunch to-day ? ” 

“ Look here,” he answers, “ you’ve come right up the 
line between the guns and the beaters.” 

“ Oh, that’s all right/' she says, gaylv. “I know 
your father doesn’t allow shooting at ground game into 
cover/' 

“ Lunch is to be up at the Hill Farm.” 

“ Oh, that’s the very thing ! I want a long walk. 
And I will help Higgins to have everything ready for 
you. 

“ It will be very rough and tumble. You had much 
better go back home to lunch.” 

“ But I have come for the very purpose! I have 


TRANSFORMA TION. 


93 


brought sugar and cinnamon to mull the claret for you. 
You will find it scalding hot when you come.” 

A hare ran by, some dozen yards off : he did not 
fire. 

“ I see I am in your way. Good-by for the pres- 
ent.” 

“ Good-by. If you do mean to go up to the Hill 
Farm, you had better keep to the road. Or else,” he 
added, laughing, “ Mr. Ferrers will have something to 
say to you.” 

“ Well,” said pretty Mary Coventry to herself, as 
she passed on and into the road, “ he did not even 
thank me for all my trouble. And I always thought 
sailors were supposed to be nice. But perhaps he is 
lamenting some blackamoor sweetheart in Patagonia, 
and won’t take any notice of anybody.” 

It was about a week after this that Captain Frank, 
having run up to town, met a young gentleman in Pic- 
cadilly whom he seemed to recognize. He looked 
again — yes, it could be no other than Tom Beresford. 
But it was Tom Beresford transformed. Mr. Tom 
was now of age ; he had his club, which he much fre- 
quented ; he had assumed the air and the manner of 
a man about town. That is to say, although he was 
clever enough, and had a sufficient touch of humor, 
he cultivated a languid stare, and was chary of speech ; 
and although he was a well-built young fellow, he 
walked with his elbows out and his knees in, as if the 
tightness of his trousers and his boots made it nigh 
impossible for him to walk at all. Moreover, his dress 
was more rigidly correct than ever ; and of course he 
carried the inevitable cane — inevitable as the walking- 
stick of the Athenian. 

Frank King went up to him eagerly. 

“ Hallo, Beresford, how are you?” 


94 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


“ How are you ? ” was the answer, as a slight boyish 
blush somewhat interfered with the dignity of Mr. 
Tom. “ How are you ? I heard you were at home 
again. I heard of you through the Strathernes.” 

“ And I heard of you in the same way,” said Cap- 
tain King, who seemed greatly pleased to meet an old 
friend. 

“ I’ll turn and walk with you. I’ve nothing particu- 
lar to do.” 

“ Will you come and lunch with me ? ” said Mr. Tom 
(he had recovered himself after the inadvertent blush). 
“ We can walk along to the club.” 

“Yes, I will,” said Frank King, heartily, “which 
is your club ? ” 

“ The Waterloo. They call it that because it isn’t 
in Waterloo Place. It’s in Regent Street.” 

“ All right,” said the other. But instantly he began 
to pursue his inquiries. “Yes, I heard of you and 
your family from the Strathernes. There have been 
great changes since I left England. Your eldest sis- 
ter is married, is she not?” 

“You mean Moll: yes. They live in town — a 
small house back there in Mayfair. He used to be 
a richer man,” observed Mr. Tom, contemplatively, 
“ before he took silk.” 

“ But they are going to make him a judge, I hear.” 

“ Faith, then, I hope he’ll never have to try me,” 
said Mr. Tom, with an air of conviction. “ He and I 
never could hit it off. I hate pompous people, and 
people who give themselves airs. Now I took a liking 
to you the first five minutes I saw you.” 

Captain King was dutifully grateful for this conde- 
scension. He said he also hated pompous people — 
he couldn’t bear them. And then he asked about 
Tom’s sister Edith. 


TRANSFORMA TION. 


95 


“She’s engaged to be married, isn’t she?” 

“ It’s my belief,” said Mr. Tom, with a smile, “ that 
she has engaged herself to both of them, just to make 
sure, and that she can’t make up her mind which to 
send off. I don’t wonder at her pulling a wry mouth 
about having to marry a soda-water manufacturer ; 
but Soda-water isn’t half a bad sort of fellow, and he 
is fearfully rich. You see, he is particularly beaming 
just now ; for there have been two or three blazing hot 
summers running, and the demand must have been 
tremendous. Then young Thynne, he’s no end of a 
swell, no doubt ; but you may be cousin to all kinds 
of earls and dukes without their giving you anything. 
I should fancy his father lets him have two or three 
hundred a year. I should like to see the Sentimental 
get along with that ! You can’t live on a fellow’s an- 
cestry. I think she should take Soda-water, even if 
he hasn’t got anything like a father to speak of. And 
even, if he has’t got a father — this was what Nan said 
— he might be equally 1 sans pere et sans reproche .’ ” 

“ It was your sister Anne said that, was it ? ” re- 
marked Frank King, quickly. 

“ That was in her saucy days,” said Mr. Tom, sadly. 
“ It’s quite different now. Now she’s on the pious lay.” 

“ The what ? ” said Frank King. It was clear that, 
however Mr. Tom had altered, he had not chosen to 
improve his manner of speech. 

“ Oh, High-Church, and reredoses,” said the irrever- 
ent youth. “ Silver embroideries, don’t you know, and 
visiting the poor, and catching all sorts of confounded 
infection. And then I suppose she’ll end by marrying 
•that curate that’s always about the house. What a 
shame it is ! She used to be such a brick. And to go 
and marry a curate ! ” 

“ I heard of that too,” said Captain Frank, with a 


96 THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 

bit of a sigh. It was, indeed, among the first things 
he had heard after returning to England. 

By this time they had reached Mr. Tom’s club, which 
was pleasantly situated at a corner of the great 
thoroughfare, so that it had from its coffee-room win- 
dows a spacious view, and was altogether a light and 
cheerful sort of place. 

“ But you don’t ask about the Baby,” said Mr. Tom, 
as he was entering his friend’s name in the Strangers’ 
Book — the Waterloo being a hospitable little club that 
allowed visitors to come in at any hour. “ And the 
Baby is in a hole.” 

“ Well, it must be a sad thing for a baby to be in a 
hole ; but I don’t quite understand,” said Captain King. 

“ Don’t you remember the Baby ? The youngest ? 
Madge?” 

“Oh! Well, I only saw her once, I think. What 
is the matter with her?” 

“ First pick out what you want for lunch, and then 
I’ll tell you.” 

This was easily done ; and the two friends sat down 
at a small window table, which enabled them to glance 
out at the passing crowd, and even as far as the Duke 
of York’s column, and the tops of the trees in St. 
James’s Park. 

“You see, my sisters have all been wards in Chan- 
cery. I was also,” said Mr. Tom, with a slight blush ; 
for he was no more than six months escaped from tute- 
lage. “ I suppose the executors funked something 
about my father’s will ; at all events, they flung the 
whole thing in. Well, no great harm has come of it ; 
not so much cost or worry as you would expect. 
Only the girls have had bad times of it about their 
sweethearts. I mean the Baby — ” 

“ The baby ! How old is she? ” 


TRANSFORMA 77 ON. 


97 


“ Eighteen ; and uncommonly good-looking, I think. 
Have some sherry. Well, the Baby made the acquaint- 
ance at somebody’s house of a young fellow — son of a 
barrister — not a farthing but what he picks up at pool. 
I don’t think she meant anything — I don’t a bit. 
There ’s a lot of that kind of nonsense goes on down 
there; Nan is the only one who has kept clear out of 
it. Well, the guardians didn’t see it ; and they went to 
the court ; and they got the Vice-Chancellor to issue an 
order forbidding young Hanbury from having any sort 
of communication with Madge. Now, you know, if 
you play any games, with an order of that sort hang- 
ing over you, it’s the very devil. It is. Won’t you 
have some pickles?” 

“And how is Miss Madge affected by the order?” 
asked Captain King. 

“Oh,” said this garrulous youth, who had entirely 
forgotten his cultivated, reticent manner in meeting 
this old friend ; “ she pretends to be greatly hurt, and 
thinks it cruel and heart-breaking, and all the rest of 
it ; but that’s only her fun, don’t you know ; she’s 
precious glad to get out of it, that’s my belief ; and 
nobody knew better than herself he wouldn’t do at all. 
Finished ? Come and have a game of billiards, then.” 

They went up stairs to along, low-roofed apartment, 
in which were two tables. They lit cigars, chose their 
cues, and fell to work. Frank King had not played 
half a dozen strokes when Mr. Tom said, generously, 

“ I will put you on thirty points.” 

They played five minutes longer. 

“ Look- here, I will give you another thirty.” 

“ Sixty in a hundred ? ” said King, laughing. “ Well, 
that is rather a confession of bad play.” 

“ Oh, as for that,” said Mr. Tom, “ I don’t see that 
a naval officer should be ashamed of playing badly at 


98 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


billiards. He should be proud of it. I sha’n’t glory 
in it if I beat you.” 

Mr. Tom was really very friendly. After a couple 
of games or so he said : 

“ Look here, it’s nearly four o’clock. I am going 
down to Brighton by the 4.30. Will you come down 
and see my mother and • the girls ? I am afraid we 
can’t put you up ; but you can get a bedroom at the 
Norfolk or Prince’s; and we dine at eight.” 

Frank King hesitated for a minute or two. Ever 
since he had come to England he had had a strange 
wish to see Nan Beresford, even though he had heard 
she was going to be married. He wished to see 
whether she had turned out to be what he had pre- 
dicted to himself ; whether she retained those peculiar 
distinctions of character and expression and manner 
that had so attracted him ; somehow he thought he 
would like just to shake hands with her for a moment 
and see once before him those clear, blue-gray, shy, 
humorous eyes. But this proposal was too sudden. 
His heart jumped with a quick dismay. He was not 
prepared. 

Nevertheless, Tom Beresford insisted. Was Captain 
King staying at a hotel? No ; he had got a bedroom 
in Cleveland Row. That was the very thing ; they 
could stop the hansom there on their way to Victoria 
Station. The girls would be glad to see him. They 
had always been watching his whereabouts abroad in 
the Admiralty appointments in the newspapers. 

At last, with some unexpressed dread, Frank King 
consented ; and together they made their way to Vic- 
toria Station. 

“You know,” said Mr. Tom, apologetically, in the 
Pullman, “ I’ve been talking a lot about my sisters; 
but I tell you honestly I don’t see any girls to beat them 


TRANSFORMA TION. 


99 


anywhere. I don’t. The Sentimental is rather stupid, 
perhaps ; but then she scores by her music. Nan’s the 
one for my money, though. She isn’t the prettiest ; 
but put her down to any dinner table, and you can lay 
odds on her against the field. I believe there are a 
dozen old gentlemen who have got her name in their 
will — not that she cares for worldly things any more — 
it’s all sanctity now. I wished to goodness somebody 
would — ” 

But Mr. Tom had a little discretion. He said no 
more. 

“ I suppose they are all very much changed in ap- 
pearance,” Frank King said, thoughtfully. “ I shouldn’t 
be surprised if I scarcely recognized them.” 

“ Oh yes, they are. And I will confess that Nan has 
improved in one way. She isn’t as cheeky as she used 
to be ; she’s awfully good-natured — she’d do anything 
for you. When I get into trouble, I know Nan will be 
my sheet-anchor.” 

“Then I hope thecablewill hold,” said Frank King. 
They reached Brighton. Tom Beresford found his 
companion strangely silent and preoccupied. The fact 
was that Captain Frank was very unusually agitated. 
He hoped she might not be alone. Then he strove to 
convince himself that she must be quite altered now. 
She must be quite different from the young girl who 
walked up the Spliigen Pass with him. Then she was 
scarcely over seventeen ; now she was over twenty. 
He would see some one he might fail to recognize; 
not the Nan of former days; not the Nan that had 
long ago enchained him with her frank, odd ways, and 
her true eyes. 

They drove first to a hotel, and secured a bed ; then 
they went to Brunswick Terrace. When they went up 
Stairs to the drawing-room, they found it empty. 


100 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


“They can’t be all out,” said Mr. Tom; “I’ll go 
and find them.” 

He left, and Captain Frank began to try to quiet down 
this uncalled-for perturbation. Why should he fear to 
see her? The past was over. Never was any de- 
cision given more irrevocably ; even if there had been 
any question as to an open future, that had been dis- 
posed of by the news that had met him on his return to 
England. It ought only to be a pleasure to see her. 
He thought she would welcome him in a kind way, 
and he would show her that he quite accepted circum- 
stances as they were. Only — and this he kept repeat- 
ing to himself — he must expect to be disillusionized. 
Nan would no longer be that former Nan. Some of 
the freshness and the young wonder would be gone ; 
she would be eligible as a friend ; that, on the whole, 
was better. 

Well, the door opened, and he turned quickly, and 
then his heart jumped. No, she had not changed at 
all, he said to himself, as she advanced toward him 
with a smile, and a frankly extended hand. The same 
pleasant eyes, the same graceful, lithe figure, the same 
soft voice, as she said, 

“ Oh, how do you do, Captain King? ” 

And yet he was bewildered. There was something 
strange. 

“ I — I am very glad to see you again, Miss Anne,” 
he stammered. 

She looked at him for a moment, puzzled ; and then 
she said, with a quiet smile : 

“Oh, but I’m not Nan. I see you have forgotten 
me. I’m Madge.” 


NEW POSSIBILITIES. 


ioi 


CHAPTER XII. 

NEW POSSIBILITIES. 

“ Many people have told me I am very like what 
Nan used to be,” continued Miss Madge, pleasantly. 
“ And there is a photograph of her — Let me see, 
where is it ? ” 

She went to a table, and opened an album, his 
eyes following her with wonder and a vague, bewil- 
dered delight. For this was a new acquisition to the 
world ; another Nan ; a Nan free from all hateful ties; 
a Nan not engaged to be married. Presently she re- 
turned with a card in her hand. 

“ It was taken at Rome the time Nan went to Italy. 
That’s more than three years now. I think myself it 
is like me ; though it is rather too young for me.” 

It was indeed remarkably like. But yet sure enough 
it was Nan — the Nan that he remembered walking about 
the brilliant hot gardens at Bellagio. Here she was 
standing at a table ; her head bent down ; her hand 
placed on an open book. It was a pretty attitude ; 
but it hid Nan’s eyes. 

“ Yes, it would do capitally as a portrait of you,” 
he said, quickly ; “ no wonder I was mistaken. And 
your sister Edith, has she grown up to be like your eld- 
est sister in the same way?” 

“ Oh no ; Edith never was like the rest of us. Edith 
is dark, you know — ” 

Any further discussion of Miss Edith’s appearance 
was stopped by the entrance of that young lady her- 
self, who was preceded by her mamma. Lady Beres- 
ford received Captain King very kindly, and repeated 
her son’s invitation that he should dine with them that 


102 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


evening. And had he seen the Strathernes since his 
return ? And how long did he propose remaining in 
Brighton ? And which hotel was he staying at ? 

The fact was, Captain King was still a little bewil- 
dered. He answered as he best could Lady Beresford’s 
questions, and also replied to some profound remarks 
of Miss Edith’s concerning the rough weather in the 
Channel ; but all the time his eyes were inadvertently 
straying to the younger girl, who had gone to restore 
Nan’s portrait to its place, and he was astonished to 
see how this family likeness could extend even to the 
pose of the figure and the motion of the hand. He 
could almost have believed now that that Nan was there ; 
only he had been told that the real Nan — no doubt 
very much altered — was for the time being staying 
with some friends at Lewes. 

In due time he went away to his hotel to dress for 
dinner — an operation that was somewhat mechanic- 
ally performed. He was thinking chiefly of what 
Mr. Tom had told him in the railway carriage concern- 
ing the young gentleman who had been warned off by 
the Vice-Chancellor. He had taken little interest in 
the story then ; now he was anxious to recollect it. 
Certainly Miss Madge did not seem to have suffered 
much from that separation. 

When he returned to Brunswick Terrace, he found 
that the only other guest of the evening had arrived, 
and was in the drawing-room with the family. From 
the manner in which this gentleman held himself aloof 
from Miss Edith, and did not even speak to her or ap- 
pear to recognize her presence, Frank King concluded 
that he must be Miss Edith’s suitor — no other, indeed, 
than the person whom Mr. Tom had called Soda-water. 
Soda-water, if this were he, was a man of about five 
and-thirty, of middle height, fresh complexioned, and 


NEW POSSIBILITIES. 


*°3 

of wiry build, looking more like an M. F. H., in fact, 
than anything else His clothes seemed to fit well, 
but perhaps that was because he had a good figure ; in 
the middle of his spacious shirt front shone a large 
opal, surrounded with small diamonds. 

Captain King had the honor of taking Lady Beres- 
ford down to dinner, and he sat between her and Miss 
Madge. It soon became apparent that there was go- 
ing to be no lack of conversation. John Roberts, the 
soda-water manufacturer, was a man who had a large 
enjoyment of life, and liked to let people know it> 
though without the least ostentation or pretence on 
his part. He took it for granted that all his neighbors 
must necessarily be as keenly interested as himself in 
the horse he had ridden that morning to the meet of 
the Southdown fox-hounds, and in the run from Hen- 
derley Wood through the Buxted covers to Crowbor- 
ough village. But then he was not at all bound up in 
either fox-hounds or harriers. He was as deeply in- 
terested as any one present in the fancy-dress ball of 
the next week, and knew all the most striking cos- 
tumes that were being prepared. No matter what it 
was — old oak, the proposed importation of Chinese 
servants, port-wine, diamonds, black-Wedgwood, hun- 
ters, furred driving-coats, anything, in short, that was 
sensible, and practical, and English, and conduced to 
man’s solid comfort and welfare in this far too specula- 
tive and visionary world — he talked about all such 
things with vigor, precision, and delight. The sub- 
stantial, healthy look of him was something in a room. 
Joy radiated from him. When you heard him describe 
how damsons could best be preserved, you could make 
sure that there was a firm and healthy digestion : he 
was not one of the wretched creatures who prolong 
their depressed existence by means of Angostura bit. 


104 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


ters, and only wake up to an occasional flicker of life 
at the instigation of sour Champagne. 

This talk of the joyous Roberts was chiefly addressed 
to Lady Beresford ; so it gave Frank King plenty of 
opportunity of making the acquaintance of Nan's 
younger sister. And she seemed anxious to be very 
pleasant and kind to him. She wanted to know all 
about Kingscourt, and what shooting they had had. 
She told him how they passed the day at Brighton, 
and incidentally mentioned that they generally walked 
on the Pier in the forenoon. 

“ But you won’t be going to-morrow, will you ? ” he 
said, quickly. 

“ Why not ? ” she said. 

“ I am afraid the weather promises to be wild. The 
wind is southwest, and freshening. Listen.” 

There was a faint, intermittent, montonous rumble 
outside that told of the breaking of the sea on the 
beach. 

“ That ground-swell generally comes before a 
storm/’ he said. “ I thought it looked bad as I came 
along.” 

“ Why should you prophesy evil? ” she said, petu- 
lantly. 

“ Oh, well, let us look at the chances on the other 
side,” he said, with good-humor. “The best of 
Brighton is that there is nothing to catch and hold the 
clouds ; so, with a fresh southerly wind, you may have 
them blown away inland, and then you will have breaks 
of fine weather. And then the streets dry up quickly 
in Brighton.” 

“ But all that means that it’s going to be a wet day,” 
she said, as if he were responsible. 

“With breaks, I hope,” he answered, smiling che r 
fully. 


NEW POSSIBILITIES . 


i°5 

“ And then, you know, living at Brighton, you ought 
to behalf a sailor — you shouldn’t mind a shower.” 

“ Oh, but I do,” she said. “ It’s all very well for 
Nan to get on her thick boots and her water-proof, 
and go splashing away across ploughed fields. I won- 
der what the house would be like if every one went on 
in that way, and came home all over mud ! ” 

However, Madge soon repented of her petulance, 
and was quite attentively kind to the new guest, even 
reproving him for now attending to his dinner, and let- 
ting things pass. 

Dinner over, Mr. Tom took his mother’s seat, and 
somewhat grandly sent round the wine. As nobody 
took any, and as starting subjects of interest was not 
Mr. Tom’s strong point, he suddenly proposed that 
they should go into the billiard-room and send for the 
girls. This was acceded to at once. 

Now billiards is a game in which a good deal of fa- 
vor can be shown, in a more or less open way. Mr. 
Tom, having no one of sufficient skill to match himself 
against, chose to mark, and directed the remaining 
four to have a double-handed game. Mr. Roberts im- 
mediately declared that Madge and himself would play 
Captain King and Miss Edith. This was assented to 
in silence — though Madge did not look well pleased — 
and the game began. 

Very soon Mr. Tom said : “ What’s the matter with 
you, Madge ? Are you playing dark ? Have you got 
money on ? ” 

Frank King followed Madge, and it was most ex- 
traordinary how she was always missing by a hair’s- 
breadth, and leaving balls over pockets. 

“ What do you mean, Madge? ” Mr. Tom protested. 
“ Why didn’t you put the white ball in, and go into 
balk ? ” 


106 THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 

“ I don’t play Whitechapel,” said Madge, proudly. 

Frank King and his partner seemed to be getting on 
very well ; somehow Madge and the joyous Roberts 
did not score. 

“ Look here,” said Mr. Tom, addressing the com- 
pany at large, after she had missed an easy shot, 
“she’s only humbugging. She’s a first-rate player. 
She could give any one of you thirty in a hundred, and 
make you wish you had never been born. I say it’s 
all humbug. She’s a first-rate player : why, she once \ 
beat me, playing even.” 

But even this protest did not hinder Frank King '• 
and Edith coming out triumphant winners ; and Madge • 
did not seem at all depressed by her defeat, though 
she said apologetically to Mr. Roberts that one could 
not play one’s best always. 

Mr. Tom perceived that this would not do; so he 
fell back on pool (penny and sixpenny), so that each 
should fight for his own hand. He himself took a 
ball, but being strong, and also magnanimous, would 
have no more than two lives. 

Here, however, a strange thing happened. Frank 
King’s ball was yellow; Madge’s green; Mr. Tom’s, 
brown. Now, by some mysterious process, that yellow 
ball was always in a commanding position near the 
middle of the table, while, when Mr. Tom came to 
play, the green ball was as invariably under a cushion. 

“ Well, you are a sniggler, Madge,” said her brother, 
becoming very angry. “You play for not a single 
thing but the cushion. I didn’t think you cared so 
much for twopence-halfpenny in coppers.” 

“ How can I play out when you follow ? ” said 
Madge ; but even that flattery of his skill was un- 
availing. 

“Wait a bit,” said he. “I’ll catch you. You can’t 


NEW POSSIBILITIES. 


jo; 


always sniggle successfully. Even Roberts himself — 
I beg your pardon, Mr. Roberts; it was the other 
Roberts I meant — couldn’t always get under the cush- 
ion. Wait a bit.” 

There was no doubt that Madge was a most provok- 
ing and persistent sniggler. She would play for noth- 
ing, and the consequence was, that Frank King, to his 
own intense astonishment, found himself possessed of his 
original three lives, while everybody else’s lives were 
slowly dwindling down. She played with such judg- 
ment, indeed, that Mr. Tom at length got seriously 
angry, and began to hit wildly at the green ball in the 
savage hope of fluking it, the inevitable result being 
that he ran in himself twice, and departed from the 
game — and from the room too, saying he was going to 
smoke a cigar. 

Then these four diverged into various varieties of 
the game, in all of which Madge was Frank King’s 
champion and instructress ; and he was very grateful 
to her, and tried to do his best — though he was chiefly 
engaged in thinking that her clear, blue-gray eyes were 
so singularly like Nan’s eyes. Indeed, Madge had now 
to put forth all her skill, for he and she were playing 
partners against the other two, and it was but little 
help she got from him. 

“ I am very sorry,” he said to her, after making a 
fearfully bad shot. “ I ought to apologize.” 

“ At all events, don’t always have the red ball over a 
pocket,” she said, sharply — but that may have been 
less temper than an evidence that she was really in 
earnest about the game. 

Moreover, they came out victors after all, and she 
was greatly pleased ; and she modestly disclaimed what 
he said about her having done all the scoring, and said 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


ioS 

she thought he played very well considering how few 
opportunities he must have had of practising. As she 
said so — looking frankly toward him — he thought that 
was just the way Nan would have spoken. The pleas- 
ant and refined expression of the mouth was just the 
same, and there was the same careless grace of the fair 
hair that escaped from its bonds in fascinating tangles. 
He thought her face was a little less freckled than Nan’s 
— perhaps she did not brave the sunlight and the sea- 
air so much. 

The evening passed with a wonderful rapidity. 
When Mr. Tom came back again into the room — fol- 
lowed by a servant bringing Seltzer-water and things — 
they found it was nearly eleven. 

“ I must bid your mamma good-night, and be off,” 
said Frank King to ‘Madge. 

“ Oh,” she said, “ it is unnecessary. Mamma goes 
to her room early. She will make her excuses to you 
to-morrow.” 

In an instant the pale, pretty face had flushed up. 

“ I mean when you call again — if you are not going 
back to London at once,” she stammered. 

“ Oh no,” he said, quite eagerly, “ I am not going 
back to London at once. I may stay here some little 
time. And of course I shall call and see your mamma 
again, if I may — perhaps to-morrow.” 

“ Then we may see you again,” she said, pleasantly, 
as she offered him her hand. “ Good-night. Edith 
and I will leave you to your billiards and cigars. And 
I hope your prophecies are not going to interfere with 
our morning walk to-morrow. When there is a heavy 
sea coming in, you see it very well from the New Pier. 
Good-night.” 

Miss Madge went up stairs to her room ; but instead 


NEW POSSIBILITIES. 


109 


of composing her mind to sleep, she took out writing 
materials, and wrote this letter : 

“ Dear old Mother Nan, — You won’t guess who 
is below at this moment — 1 1 P. M. — playing billiards 
with Tom and Mr. Roberts. Captain King. If I were 
he, I would call myself Holford-King, for that sounds 
better. Edith says he is greatly improved, and she al- 
ways said he was nice-looking. I think he is improved. 
He was not in uniform of course, which was a pity, for 
I remember him before ; but, at all events, he wore 
neat plain gold studs, and not a great big diamond or 
opal. I can’t bear men wearing jewels like that ; why 
don’t they wear a string of pearls round their neck ? 
I have been in such a fright. H. sent me a letter — 
not in his own hand-writing. Isn’t it silly? I don’t 
want my name in the papers. Tom says they will put 
him in prison, ‘ like winking,’ if he is not careful. It 
is stupid ; and of course I shall not answer it, or have 
anything to do with him. Mr. Roberts dined here this 
evening. I think he has too much to say for himself. 
I like quiet and gentlemanly men. Captain King and 
his party got 135 pheasants last Thursday, to say noth- 
ing of hares and rabbits ; so I suppose they have good 
shooting. I wish they would ask Tom. C. J. has dis- 
appeared from Brighton as far as I can make out ; and 
I believe [sic] he is haunting the neighborhood of 
Lewes, looking out for a certain old Mother Hubbard. 
Happily he has got nothing to fear from the Chancery 
people ; I suppose they daren’t interfere with the 
Church. My seal-skin coat has comeback ; it is beau- 
tiful now ; and I have got a hat and feather exactly 
the same color as my Indian red skirt, so I think they 
will go very well together. The seal-skin looks black- 
er than it was. The sea is rough to-night, but I hope 


no 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


to get down the Pier to-morrow morning. Brighton is 
fearfully crowded just now ; and you should come 
away from that sleepy old Lewes, and have a look at 
your friends. Good-night, dear Nan. Madge." 


CHAPTER XIII. 

ORMUZD AND AHRIMAN. 

The woman is not born who can quite forget the 
man who has once asked her to become his wife, even 
though at the moment she may have rejected the offer 
without a thought of hesitation. Life with her, as 
with all of us, is so much a matter of experiment, and 
so rarely turns out to be what one anticipated, that 
even when she is married, and surrounded with chil- 
dren, husband, and friends, she can not but at times 
bethink herself of that proposal, and wonder what 
would have happened if she had accepted it. Would 
her own life have been fuller, happier, less occupied 
with trivial and sordid cares ? Would he have become 
as great and famous if she had married him, and ham- 
pered him with early ties? Might not she — supposing 
things to have gone the other way — have saved him 
from utter ruin, and have given him courage and hope ? 
After all, there is nothing more important in the world 
than human happiness; and as the simple “ Yes ” or 
“ No ” of maidenhood may decide the happiness of 
not one but two lives, that is why it is a matter of 
universal interest in song and story ; and that is why 
quite elderly people, removed by half a century from 
such frivolities themselves, but nevertheless possessed 
of memory and a little imagination, and still conscious 


ORMUZD AND A HR /MAN 


in 


that life has been throughout a puzzle and a game of 
chance, and that even in their case it might have 
turned out very differently, find themselves awaiting 
with a strange curiosity and anxiety the decision of 
some child of seventeen, knowing no more of the world 
than a baby dormouse. 

On the other hand, the woman who does not marry 
is still less likely to forget such an offer. Here, plainly 
enough, was a turning-point in her life : what has hap- 
pened since, she owes to her decision then. And as 
an unmarried life is naturally and necessarily an unful- 
filled life, where no great duty or purpose steps in to 
stop the gap, it is but little wonder if in moments of 
disquietude or unrest the mind should travel away in 
strange speculations, and if the memory of a particular 
person should be kept very green indeed. Nan Beres- 
ford, at the age of twenty, would have been greatly 
shocked if you had told her that during the past three 
years she had been almost continually thinking about 
the young sailor whom she had rejected at Bellagio. 
Had she not been most explicit — even eagerly explicit ? 
Had she not experienced an extraordinary sense of re- 
lief when he was well away from the place, and when 
she could prove to herself in close self-examination 
that she was in no way to blame for what had occurred? 
She was a little sorry for him, it is true ; but she could 
not believe that it was a very serious matter. He 
would soon forget that idle dream in the brisk realities 
of his profession ; and he would show that he was not 
like those other young men who came fluttering round 
her sisters with their simmering sentimentalities and 
vain flirtations. Above all, she had been explicit. 
That episode was over and closed. It was attached to 
Bellagio : leaving Bellagio, they would leave it also 
behind. And she was glad to get away from Bellagio^ 


112 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


Yes, Nan would have been greatly shocked if you 
had told her that during these three years she had been 
frequently thinking of Frank King — except, of course, 
in the way any one may think of an officer in her 
Majesty’s navy, whose name sometimes appears in the 
Admiralty appointments in the newspapers. Her 
mind was set on far other and higher things. It was 
the churches and pictures of Italy that began it — the 
frescoes in the cloisters, the patient sculpture telling of 
the devotion of lives, even the patient needle-work on 
the -altars. She seemed to breathe the atmosphere of 
an Age of Faith. And when, after a long period of 
delightful reverie abroad, and mystical enjoyment of 
music and architecture and painting, all combining to 
place their noblest gifts at the service of religion, she 
returned to her familiar home in Brighton, some vague 
desire still remained in her heart that she might be able 
to make something beautiful of her life, something less 
selfish and worldly than the lives of most she saw 
around her. And it so happened that among her 
friends those who seemed to her most earnest in their 
faith and most ready to help the poor and the suffer- 
ing, those who had the highest ideals of existence, and 
strove faithfully to reach these, were mainly among 
the High-Church folk. Insensibly she drew nearer 
and nearer to them. She took no interest at all in any 
of the controversies then raging about the position of 
the ritualists in the Church of England ; it was persons, 
not principles, that claimed her regard ; and when she 
saw that So-and-so and So-and-so in her own small circle 
of friends were living, or striving to live, pure and noble 
and self-sacrificing lives, she threw in her lot with 
them, and she was warmly welcomed. For Nan was 
popular in a way. All that acerbity of her younger 
years had now ripened into a sort of sweet and toler- 


ORMUZD AND Aim I MAN. 


*3 


ant good-humor. Tom Beresford called her a papist, 
and angrily told her to give up “ that incense dodge ” ; 
but he was very fond of her all the same, and honored 
her alone with his confidence, and would have no one 
to say any ill of her. Nay, for her sake he consented 
to be civil to the Rev. Mr. Jacomb. 

Of Charles Jacomb it need only be said at present 
that he had recently been transferred to an ex- 
tremely High Church at Brighton from an equally 
High Church in a large, populous, and poor parish in 
the southeast of London, where the semi-Catholic serv- 
ices had succeeded in attracting a considerable number 
of people who otherwise would probably have gone to 
no church at all. It was his discription of his work in 
this neighborhood that had won for him the respect 
and warm esteem of Nan Beresford. The work was 
hard. The services were almost continuous ; there 
was a great deal of visitation to be got through ; in 
these labors he naturally ran against cases of distress 
that no human being could withstand ; and he had 
£60 a year. Moreover, there were no delicate com- 
pensations such as attend the labors of curates in some 
more favored places. There was not — Mr. Jacomb 
emphatically remarked — there was not a gentleman 
in the parish. When he went to Brighton he had con- 
siderably less'work, and a great deal more of dinners 
and society, and pleasant attentions. And Mr. Jacomb, 
while he was a devoted, earnest, and hard-working 
priest, was also an Englishman, and liked his dinner, 
and that was how he became acquainted with the 
Beresfords, and gradually grew to be an intimate friend 
of the family. His attentions to Nan were marked, 
and she knew it. She knew, although he had said 
nothing to her about it, that he wished her to be his 
wife; and though she would rather have been enabled 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH \ 


1 14 

to devote her life to some good end in some other way, 
was not this the only way open to her ? By herself, 
she was so helpless to do anything. So many of her 
friends seemed to cultivate religion as a higher species 
of emotion — a sort of luxurious satisfaction that ended 
with themselves. Nan wanted to do something. If 
Mr. Jacomb had still been in the southeast of London, 
working on his £60 a year, Nan would have had no 
doubt as to what she ought to do. 

But Nan had very serious doubt; more than that, 
she sometimes broke down, and delivered herself over 
to the devil. At such times a strange yearning would 
take possession of her; the atmosphere of exalted re- 
ligious emotion in which she lived would begin to feel 
stifling ; at all costs, she would have to get out of this 
hot-house and gain a breath of brisk sea-air. And 
then she would steal away like a guilty thing on one 
of her long land cruises along the coast ; and she 
would patiently talk to the old shepherds on the downs, 
and wait for their laconic answers ; and she would 
make observations to the coast-guardsmen about the 
weather ; and always her eyes, which were very clear 
and long-sighted, were on the outlook for Singing Sal. 
Then, if by some rare and happy chance she did run 
across that free-and-easy vagrant, they always had a 
long chat together, Sal very respectful, the young lady 
very matter-of-fact ; and generally the talk came round 
to be about sailors. Nan Beresford had got to know 
the rig of every vessel that sailed the sea. Further 
than that, she herself was unaware that every morning 
as she opened the newspaper she inadvertently turned 
first of all to the “Naval and Military Intelligence," 
until she had acquired an extraordinary knowledge of 
the goings and comings and foreign stations of her 
Majesty’s ships. And if she sometimes reflected that 


OR MUZ D AND A NR IMA N 115 

most officers were transferred to home stations for a 
time, or took their leave in the ordinary way, and also 
that she had never heard of Captain King — for she 
saw he had been made Commander on account of 
some special service — being in England, was it not 
natural that she might have a secret consciousness 
that she was perhaps responsible for his long banish- 
ment ? But these solitary prowls along the coast and 
these conferences with Singing Sal were wrong, and 
she knew they were wrong; and she went back to the 
calmer atmosphere of those beautiful services in which 
the common-place, vulgar world outside was forgotten. 
She grew, indeed, to have a mysterious feeling that to 
her the Rev. Charles Jacomb personified Religion, 
and that Singing Sal in like manner was a sort of 
high priestess of Nature, and that they were in deadly 
antagonism. They were Ormuzd and Ahriman. She 
was a strangely fanciful young woman, and she dwelt 
much on this thing, until, half fearing certain unto- 
ward doubts and promptings of her heart, she began to 
think that if now and at once Mr. Jacomb would only 
ask her to be his wife, she would avoid all perils and 
confusions by directly accepting him, and so decide 
her future forever. 

But that morning that brought her Madge’s letter 
saying that Captain Frank King was in Brighton, Nan 
was singularly disturbed. She was staying with the 
Rev. Mr. Clarke and his wife — an old couple who liked 
to have their house brightened occasionally by the pres- 
ence of some one of younger years. They were good 
people — very, very good, and a little tedious. Nan, 
however, was allowed considerable liberty ; and was 
sometimes away the whole day from breakfast-time till 
dinner. 

Madge had written her letter in a hurry, but did not 


n6 THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 

post it, in her inconsequential fashion, until the after- 
noon of the next day, so that Nan got it on the morn- 
ing of the following day. She read and re-read it ; and 
then, somehow, she wanted to think about it in the 
open, under the wide skies, near the wide sea. She 
wanted to go out — and think. And she was a little bit 
terrified to find that her heart was beating fast. 

She made some excuse or other after breakfast, and 
departed. It was a clear, beautiful December morning, 
the sun shining brilliantly on the evergreens and on 
the red houses of the bright, clean, picturesque, Eng- 
lish-looking old town. She went down to the station, 
and waited for the first train going to Newhaven. When 
it came in, she took her place ; and away the train went, 
at no break-neck speed, down the wide valley of the 
Ouse, which even on this cold December morning 
looked pleasant and cheerful enough. For here and 
there the river caught a steely-blue light from the sky 
overhead ; and the sunshine shone along the round 
chalk hills ; and there were little patches of villages far 
away among the dusk of the leafless trees, where the 
church spire rising into the blue seemed to attract the 
wheeling of pigeons. To Nan it was all a familiar 
scene : she frequently spent the day in this fashion. 

Nan was now three years older than when we last 
saw her at Bellagio. Perhaps she had not grown much 
prettier, and she never had great pretensions that way ; 
but along with the angularity, so to speak, of her ways 
of thinking, she had also lost the boniness of her figure. 
She was now more fully formed, though her figure was 
still slender and graceful ; and she had acquired a grave 
and sweet expression, that spoke of a very kindly, hu- 
morous, tolerant nature within. Children came to her 
readily, and she let them pull her hair. She was inca- 
pable of a harsh judgment. The world seemed beau- 


ORMUZD AND AHRIMAN. 


117 

tiful to her, and she enjoyed living, especially when she 
was on the high downs overlooking the sea. 

This getting out into the open was on this occasion a 
great relief to her. She argued with herself, what 
did it matter to her whether Frank King were in Brigh- 
ton, or even that he had been at the house in Bruns- 
wick Terrace, dining and playing billiards? He had 
probably forgotten that ever he had been at Bellagio. 
She was glad the weather was fine. No doubt her sis- 
ters would soon be setting out for their morning stroll 
down the Pier. 

Nan had taken her ticket for Newhaven Wharf, with 
a vague intention of walking from thence by the short 
cut to Seaford, and from Seaford to Alfriston, and so 
back to Lewes. However, when the train stopped, she 
thought she would have a look at the harbor ; and very 
pretty and bright and busy it appeared on this clear 
morning ; the brass and copper of the steamers all pol- 
ished up ; flags flying ; the sun brilliant on the green 
water of the estuary and on the blue water of the ponds 
beyond that were ruffled with the wind. Then, just be- 
low her, came in the ferry-boat. She thought she would 
cross (though that was not the way to Seaford). When 
she got to the other side, the slopes leading up to the 
fort seemed temptingly high ; she knew that from 
the summit of the downs this morning one would 
have a splendid view. And so, perhaps from mere 
habit, she took the old familiar road — past the coast- 
guard station, past the pools of ruffled water, up the 
valley by the farmstead, and so on to the high and 
solitary downs overlooking the wide, moving, shining 
sea. 

Brighton ought to be fair and beautiful on such a 
morning as this ; perhaps by and by she might come 
to have a glimpse of the pale yellow terraces of the dis- 


nS 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


tant town. No doubt by this time Edith and Madge were 
on the Pier — Madge with her red skirt and black seal- 
skin coat. Madge always dressed smartly — perhaps 
even a trifle boldly. The band would be playing now. 
In the sheltered places it would be almost warm ; there 
you could sit down and talk, and watch the ships 
go by. She supposed that in course of time they 
would go back for luncheon. That was always a 
merry meal at home. They generally had visitors 
whom they had met casually — on the Pier or in the 
King’s Road. 

So Nan was thinking and dreaming as she walked 
idly along, when her attention was suddenly arrested 
by a sound as of music. She looked round : there was 
no human being in sight, and the telegraph wires, 
which sometimes deceived the ear, were far too far 
away. Then as she went on again she discovered 
whence the sound proceeded — from a little wooden 
hut facing the sea, which had prabably been erected 
there as a shelter for the coast-guardsmen. As she 
drew nearer she recognized the staccato twanging of a 
guitar; so she made sure this was Singing Sal. She 
drew nearer still — her footsteps unheard on the smooth 
turf — and then she discovered that Sal was singing 
away to herself, not for amusement, as was her wont, 
but for practice. There were continual repetitions. 
Nan got quite close to the hut, and listened. Singing 
Sal was doing her very best. She was singing with 
very great effect ; and she had a hard, clear voice that 
could make itself heard, if it was not of very fine qual- 
ity. But what struck Nan was the clever fashion in 
which this woman was imitating the Newcastle burr. 
It was a pitman’s song, with a refrain something like 
this : 


ORMUZD AND AHRIMAN. 


119 


" Ho thy way * my bonnie bairn, 

Ho thy way , upon my airm. 

Ho thy way , thou still may learn 
To say Dada sae bonnie.” 

It was very clear that Sal was proud of her perform- 
ance ; and she had a right to be, for she had caught 
the guttural accent to perfection. It was an instruc- 
tive song, to be sung as a lullaby. This was what Nan 
made out amid the various experiments and repetitions : 

“ Oh, Johnnie is a clever lad ; 

Last neet he fuddled all he had ; 

This morn he wasna very bad ; 

He looked the best of ony. 

“When Johnnie’s drunk he’ll tak a knife, 

And threaten sair to hae my life : 

Wha wadna be a pitman’s wife, 

To hae a lad like Johnnie ? 

“ Yonder’s Johnnie coming noo : 

He looks the best of a’ the crew. 

They’ve all gone to the Barley Moo, 

To hae a glass wi’ Johnnie. 

w So let’s go get the bacon fried, 

And let us mak a clean fireside, 

And when he comes he will thee ride 
Upon his knee sae cannie. 

“ Ho thy way , my bonnie bairn, 

Ho thy way , upon my airm, 

Ho thy way , thou still may learn 
To say Dada sae bonnie.” 

But this was likely to go on forever; so Nan quietly 
stepped round to the door of the hut, where she found 
Singing Sal sitting on the little cross-bench, entirely 
occupied with her guitar and the new song. When 

* I do not know what this means. “ Hold thy wail ? ” The song is a 
rommon one in the north of England. 


120 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


she looked up, on finding the door darkened, she did 
not scream ; her nerves were not excitable. 

“ Oh, dear me, is it you, miss?” she said. “No 
wonder I did not hear ye, for I was making enough 
noise myself. I hope you are very well, miss ; it is 
many a day since I have seen you on the downs.” 

“ I have been living in Lewes for some time,” said 
Nan. “ 1 have been listening to your song. That is 
not the kind of song that sailors like, is it ? ” 

So they had begun about sailors again ; and the 
good genius Ormuzd was clean forgotten. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

AT HOME. 

All that night, as Frank King had feared, a heavy 
gale from the southwest raged furiously, the wind shak- 
ing the houses with violent gusts, the sea thundering 
along the beach. But in the morning, when Brighton 
awoke, it found that the worst of the storm had passed 
over, leaving only a disturbed and dangerous look 
about the elements, and also a singular clearness in 
the air, so that the low, hard colors of water and land 
and sky were strangely intense and vivid. Near the 
shore the sea had been beaten into a muddy brown, 
then that melted into a cold green further out, and 
that again deepened and deepened until it was lost in 
a narrow line of ominous purple, black just where 
the sea met the vague and vaporous gray sky. In fact, 
at this moment, the seaward view from any Brighton 
window resembled nothing so much as an attempt at 
water-color that a school-girl has got into a hopeless 
mess through washing and washing away at her skies 


AT HOME. 


I2t 

until she has got her heaviest color smudged over the 
horizon line. 

But then that was only temporary. Every few min- 
utes another change would steal over this strange, 
shifting, clear, dark world. Sometimes a long streak 
of sunny green, as sharp as the edge of a knife, far out 
at sea, told that there was some unseen rift declaring 
itself overhead in that watery sky. Then a pale gray- 
ness would come up from the southwest and slowly 
cover over Worthing as with a veil; and then again 
that could be seen to go trailing away inland, and the 
long spur beyond the bay appear blacker than ever. 
Sometimes, too, as if in contrast with all these cold, 
hard tones and colors, a wonder of light would slowly 
concentrate on the far cliffs in the east, until Seaford 
Head became a mass of glorified golden white, hung 
apparently between sea and sky. Altogether it was 
not a day to tempt fashionable folk to go out for their 
accustomed promenade ; and assuredly it was not a 
day, supposing them bent on going out, to suggest 
that they should be too elaborate about their costume. 

Nevertheless, when Miss Madge Beresford came into 
the billiard-room, where her brother was patiently 
practicing the spot stroke, her appearance seemed to 
produce a great effect. 

“ Well, we have got on a swagger dress this time ! ” 
cried Mr. Tom. who, though he had never been to 
Oxford, was a genuine free-trader in slang, and was 
ready to import it from anywhere. 

He stared at her — at her dark Indian red hat and 
skirt, and her long, tight-fitting black seal-skin coat — 
and she bore the scrutiny patiently. 

“You are not going out on a morning like this?” 
he said at length. 

“ There is no rain now, and the streets are quite 


122 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


dry,” pleaded Madge. u I know it’s going to be 
fine.” 

“ It’s no use, Baby. There won’t be a soul to admire 
your new dress. Better go and finish those slippers 
for me.” He proceeded with his billiards. 

“ Won’t you come, Tom?” she said. “I went to 
the bazar with you when you wanted to see Kate Har- 
man.” 

“ Wanted to see Kate Harman ! ” he said, contemptu- 
ously. “ Couldn’t anybody see Kate Harman who 
paid half a crown at the door?” 

“ But I took you up and introduced you to her.” 

“Introduced me to her! What introduction do 
you need at a stall at a bazar except to pay a couple 
of sovereigns for a shilling’s worth of scent? Who 
told you I wanted to speak to Kate Harman? I’ll 
tell you what it is, Baby, it’s very unladylike to impute 
motives.” 

“ I never did anything of the kind,” said his sister, 
hotly. “ Never.” 

She did not quite understand what accusation had 
been brought against her ; but she did not like the 
sound of the word “ unladylike.” 

“ Very well,” said he, laying down his cue, “ since 
you say I am incapable of speaking the truth, I sup- 
pose I must go and walk up and down the Pier with 
you. There’s one thing sure — /sha’nt be stared at.” 

So he went and got his hat and cane and gloves, and 
when he had buttoned himself all over into the smallest 
possible compass, he called for his sister, and together 
they went out into the gusty, clear, sea-scented morn- 
ing. They had the spacious thoroughfare nearly to 
themselves, though the pavements were fairly dry now. 
For the day was wild-looking still ; the occasional 
gleam of sunlight was spectral and watery ; and a black 


A T HOME. 


123 


shadow melting into a soft gray told of showers falling 
far away at sea. At a great many drawing-room win- 
dows, coffee-room windows, club windows, were people 
standing, their hands behind their back, apparently 
uncertain whether or not to venture out. And no 
doubt some of these, remarking Tom and Madge Beres- 
ford pass, must have thought they formed a very 
handsome couple — the tall, well-built young fellow, 
who looked three-and-twenty though he was not so 
much, and the pretty girl of eighteen, who also had a 
good figure, and walked well. Their features were 
much alike, too ; most would have guessed them to be 
brother and sister. 

“I observe,” remarked Mr. Tom, profoundly, as he 
gazed with admiration at his own boots, “ that when I 
come out with you, Baby, I have to do all the talking. 
When I go out with Nan, now, she does it all, and I 
am amused. It isn't that I am selfish ; but a girl come 
to your time of life — a woman, indeed — ought to culti- 
vate the art of amusing people. There is a want of 
originality about you — ” 

“There is a want of politeness about you,” said Miss 
Madge, calmly. 

“ There is not that flow of ideas that helps one to 
pass the time. Now that ought to be the business of 
women. Men who have the hard work of the world 
to get through require to be entertained, and women 
should make a study of it, and learn to be amus- 
ing—” 

“You won’t talk like that to your rich widow,” 
said his sister, “ when you have to go to her for a 
check.” 

“ Now there’s what I would call a sort of vacuity in 
your mind,” he continued, bending his cane from time 
to time on the pavement, “ that might be filled up with 


1 24 THA T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCH. 

something. You might read the newspapers. You 
might get to know that a Conservative government 
and a Liberal government are not in office at the same 
time — not generally, at least.” 

“ Tom,” she said, “ do you think you could get Cap- 
tain King to come to the Hunt ball? ” 

He glanced at her suspiciously. 

“ Captain King ! ” said he. “ How do you know I 
am going to see Captain King again? How do you 
know that he did not go back to town this morning?” 

“Because,” she answered, with her eyes fixed on 
some distant object — “ because I can see him on the 
Pier.” 

Tom Beresford had a quick, dark suspicion that he 
had been made a fool of, even while he was lecturing 
his sister on her ignorance ; but he was not going to 
admit anything of the kind. 

“Yes,” he said, carelessly, “I fancy that is King 
coming along. I hope he won’t be gone before we 
get there ; I want him to tell me where he gets his 
boots. Mine aren’t bad, you know,” he said, glancing 
approvingly at those important objects ; “ but there’s 
a style about his that I rather fancy. ” 

“ Don’t forget about the ball, Tom,” said his sister; 
“ it would be very nice if we could get up a little party 
among ourselves.” 

But Tom, as he walked along, continued to glance 
down at his glazed boots in a thoughtful and preoccu- 
pied manner ; it was clear that his mind was charged 
concerning them. 

Frank King was on the Pier, and very few others 
besides, except the musicians in their box. He threw 
away a cigar, and came forward quickly. His face ex- 
pressed much pleasure, though he regarded Madge 
Beresford with something of timidity. 


AT HOME. 


I2 5 

“ I was afraid you would not venture out on such a 
morning,” he said, looking at the clear, blue-gray eyes 
that were immediately turned away. 

Her manner was civil, but that was all. She shook 
hands with him, of course, and regarded him for half 
a second ; but then she turned aside somewhat, so 
that he and Tom might talk together. For he was 
Mr. Tom’s friend, and no doubt they might have 
something to say to each other about boots, or cigars, 
or such things. 

However, the three of them very soon found them- 
selves walking together up toward the end of the 
empty Pier, and Tom was in an amazingly good humor, 
and did his best to amuse this new friend. They sat 
down where they were sheltered from the gusts of 
wind, and listened a little to the music, and talked a 
great deal — though Madge chiefly listened. Madge 
pretended to be mostly interested in the music, and in 
the few more people who had now been tempted to 
come down the Pier ; but she knew that while her 
brother and Captain King were very busy talking, the 
latter was very frequently regarding her. What she 
did not know was that he was trying to make himself 
believe that that was Nan who was sitting there. 

Then they went for a stroll again, and they looked at 
the kiosks, and they took refuge from a few passing 
drops of rain, and they hurried to see a heavy fishing- 
smack go by the end of the Pier, beating out against 
the southwesterly wind. And although Frank King 
again and again addressed her, as was demanded of 
him, she did not enter much into conversation with 
him. He was Tom’s friend, she let it be understood. 
Nevertheless, she met his eyes once or twice, and she 
had a pleasant and amiable look. 

She began to think that there must be something 


126 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH 


very striking and attractive about this young sailor, 
when even her brother Tom — who seemed to consider 
that the whole world should wait upon his highness — 
so clearly went out of his way to make himself agree- 
able. Not only that, but when they had enough of 
the Pier, and had taken a stroll or two along the King’s 
Road, bringing the time to nearly one o’clock, what 
must Mr. Tom do but insist that Frank King should 
come in and lunch with them ? 

“ Well, I will,” said he, “if you will dine with me at 
the hotel in the evening. Dining by yourself at a 
hotel is not exhilarating.” 

“ But you’d far better dine with us too,” said Mr. 
Tom, boldly. 

“Oh, I can’t do that,” said Frank King, but with a 
slight increase of color, which showed that he wished 
he could. “ Even as it is I am afraid Lady Beresford 
will think it rather cool if I turn up again now.” 

“ Oh, you don’t know what Brighton is at this time 
of year,” said Mr. Tom. “ All the resident people like 
ourselves keep open house, don’t you know, and very 
glad to. We never know how many are coming in to 
lunch ; but then they put up with anything, and it’s 
great fun ; it’s an occupation for idle people. Then 
when you’ve got a billiard table, they can turn to that 
on wet days. Or Edith can give them some music ; 
they say she’s rather a swell at it. You see, everybody 
is in Brighton in December, with friends or in hotels; 
and as I say, it’s a case of open house and take your 
chance.” 

“ We are more formal, and a little duller, in Wilt- 
shire,” said Frank King. “ I wish you’d come to Kings- 
court for a few days. We haven’t shot the best of the 
covers yet.” 

Those who thought that Tom Beresford was a fool- 


AT HOME, 


14 / 

ish youth knew nothing about him. Without a hum 
or a ha he said : “Yes, I will. When ?” 

“I’m going back for Christmas. Of course you’ll 
have to stay here with your sisters. As soon after 
that as you can manage.” 

“ I could come to you on the 27th or 28th.” 

“ That’s settled, then. I will write and let you know 
about trains and things.” 

As luck, good or ill, would have it, there was no 
other visitor at lunch, the party consisting of Lady 
Beresford, her two daughters, Mr. Tom, and Captain 
Frank King. But Mr. Tom was in high spirits over 
this prospective visit to Kingscourt, and was most 
amiable to everybody and everything ; he even said 
that he himself would go through to Lewes, and fetch 
Nan home for Christmas. 

Now this was odd : that whenever Nan’s name was 
mentioned, Frank King always glanced up with a quick 
look, as if he were surprised. Was he beginning to 
believe, then, as he had tried to make himself believe, 
that this was the real Nan Beresford now on the other 
side of the table ? Was he surprised to be reminded 
of the other Nan far away — and now no doubt greatly 
altered from her former self? Madge Beresford was 
aware that her neighbor opposite regarded her very 
frequently — and she pretended not to be conscious of 
it ; but once or twice, when she looked up and her eyes 
met his, she thought there was an oddly wistful or 
even puzzled expression in those dark blue eyes that 
Edith was always talking about. 

After luncheon Lady Beresford retired to her room, 
as was her wont ; the two young ladies went up stairs 
to the drawing-room ; and Captain King accompanied 
them, for Madge had asked him to advise her about 
the rigging of some boats she had but lately been 


128 THA T BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 

sketching. Mr. Tom remained below to practice the 
spot stroke. 

In the drawing-room Miss Edith hoped that her 
playing a little would not interfere with their artistic 
pursuits; and Madge went and got her sketch-book 
and water-colors, and carried them to a small table at 
one of the windows, and sat down. Captain King re- 
mained standing. 

The sketches, to tell the truth, were as bad as bad 
could be. They were all experimental things, done 
out of her own head, aiming at a land of the beautiful 
unknown to anybody on earth but the chromo lith- 
ographer. The actual sea was out there, staring her 
in the face, and there were boats on the beach and 
boats on the water; but instead of trying her hand at 
anything before her, she must needs imagine lovely 
pictures, mostly of blue and pink, with goats perched 
on brown crags, and an ill-drawn eagle soaring over a. 
snow-peak. There were, however, one or two sketches 
of mist, or moonlight, or thunder-storm, that had cer- ; 
tainly a weird and eerie effect ; but it was not neces- 
sary to tell the spectator that these had been got in 
moments of impatience, when, after laborious trials at 
brilliant-hued scenes, the angry artist had taken up a 
big brush, and washed the whole thing into chaos — 
thereby, to her astonishment, reaching something, she 
did not know exactly what, that was at all events mys- 
terious and harmonious in tone. 

But it was the shipping about which she had sought 
his advice. The little white dots on blue lakes 
that were supposed to be feluccas or barchette he 
passed ; but when it came to a big sailing-boat lying 
on a beach, and that beach presumably Cornish, from 
the color of the rocks, he made a civil and even timid 
remonstrance. 


A T HOME . 


129 


“ 1 don't think I would have the mast quite in the 
middle of the boat, if I were you/’ said he, gently. 

“ I thought it always was,” she said ; and yet if she 
had gone to the window she might have seen. 

If it is a lugger, you see,” he continued, giving her 
all sorts of chances of escape, “ the mast would be at 
the bow. And if it is a cutter, you would have to put 
the mast farther forward, and give her a boom and a 
bowsprit. Or if it is a yawl, then you would have a 
little jigger-mast astern, about there.” 

“ Oh, I can’t be expected to know things like that,” 
she said. “ Scientific accuracy isn’t wanted. They’re 
only sketches.” 

“ Yes ; oh yes,” he said. 

“ Won’t that boat do? ” she demanded. 

“ Oh yes, it will do,” he said, fearful of offending 
her. “ It isn’t exactly where they put masts, you 
know ; but then few people know about boats, or care 
about them.” 

She was not very well pleased ; but she continued 
to show him more sketches, until Mr. Tom came up to 
see when they were coming to billiards. 

“ I shouldn’t have shown you these at all,” she said. 
“ I don’t take interest in them myself. I would far 
rather draw and paint flowers ; but we never have any 
flowers now except those waxen-looking heaths and 
that flaming pointsettia over there.” 

“ What did you call it, Madge ?” said Mr. Tom. 

“ I called it pointsettia,” she said, with dignity. 

“ Gamekeeper’s Greek, I shoulcksay,” he remarked, 
with his hands in his pockets. “ A cross between a 
pointer and a setter. You shouldn’t use long words, 
Madge. Come along down.” 

But this mention of flowers put a new idea into the 

9 


?3 b THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH 

head of Captain Frank King. That very morning he 
had passed a window where he had seen all sorts of 
beautiful blossoms, many of them lying in cotton-wool 
— pink and white camellias, white hyacinths, scarlet 
geraniums, lilies-of-the-valley, and what not. Now 
might he not be permitted to send Miss Margaret a 
selection of these rare blossoms, not as a formal bou- 
quet at all, but merely for the purposes of painting ? 
They would simply be materials for an artist ; and they 
would look well in a pretty basket on a soft cushion of 
wool. 


CHAPTER XV 

A MESSAGE. 

FRANK King could never exactly define what pecu- 
liarity of mind or person or manner it was that had so 
singularly attracted him in Nan Beresford, though he 
had spent many a meditative hour on board ship in 
thinking about her. In any case, that boyish fancy 
was one that a few years’ absence might very well have 
been expected to cure. But the very opposite had 
happened. Perhaps it was the mere hopelessness of 
the thing that made him brood the more over it, until 
it took possession of his life altogether. He kept reso- 
lutely abroad, so that he had but few chances of fall- 
ing in love with somebody else, which is the usual rem- 
edy in such cases. When at length he was summoned 
home, about the first news that reached him was of 
Nan’s contemplated marriage. He was not surprised. 
And when he consented to go down to Brighton with 
her brother, it was that he might have just one more 
glimpse of one whom he always had known was lost to 
him. He had nothing to reproach her or himself with. 


A MESS A GE. 


'P 

It was all a misfortune, and nothing more. But his life 
had been changed for him by that mere boyish fancy. 

Then came that wonderful new hope. Nan was 
away ; Nan was impossible ; but here was the very 
counterpart of Nan, and why should he not transfer all 
that lingering love and admiration from the one sister 
to the other who so closely resembled her? It was 
the prompting of despair as much as anything else. 
He argued with himself. He tried to make himself 
believe that this was really Nan — only grown a year 
or so older than the Nan whom he had last seen at 
Como. Of course there must be differences ; people 
changed with the changing years. Sometimes he 
turned away, so that he might only hear her, and her 
voice was like Nan’s. 

Now if Frank King was busy persuading himself 
that this transference of affection was not only natural 
and possible, but indeed the easiest and simplest thing 
in the world, it must be admitted that he obtained 
every help and encouragement from Madge Beresford 
herself. She was more than kind to him ; she was at- 
tentive ; she professed great respect for his opinions ; 
and she did her best to conceal — or rather, let us say, 
subdue — her bad temper. And they were very much 
together during these two or three days. Frank King, 
being on such intimate terms of friendship with Mr. 
Tom, had almost become an inmate of the house. 
His being carried off to lunch, when they met him 
in the morning, was a matter of course. Then he 
watched Madge paint, and listened to Edith’s music, 
or they all went down stairs and played billiards, and by 
that time it was the hour for the afternoon promenade. 
It was no matter to them that December afternoons 
are short, and sometimes cold ; one’s health must be 
preserved despite the weather ; and then, again, Brigh- 


THA T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCH. 


* 3 * 

ton looked very picturesque in the gathering dusk, 
with the long rows of her golden lamps. To observe 
this properly, however, you ought to go out on the 
Pier, and although at that hour, at that time of the 
year, there is not a human being to be found there, 
that need not interfere with your appreciation of the 
golden-lit spectacle. 

Moreover, Mr. Tom was a tyrant. When he had 
settled that Captain King might as well remain to din- 
ner instead of going away to dine by himself at his 
hotel, it was no use for Captain King to resist. And 
then Tom’s invitation, for mere courtesy’s sake, had 
to be repeated by Lady Beresford, and prettily sec- 
onded by the two girls. No such favors, be it ob- 
served, were showered on the efflorescent Roberts or 
on young Thynne : Mr. Tom had taken the sailor suit- 
or under his protection ; there was to be a distinc- 
tion drawn. 

One night, just after Frank King had left, Tom and 
his sister were by themselves in the billiard-room. 

“ I want to speak to you, Madge,” said he, in atone 
that meant something serious. 

“ Very well, then.” 

“ Now none of your airs and pretence,” he said. 
“ You needn’t try to gammon me.” 

“ If you would talk English, one might understand 
you,” she said, spitefully. 

“ You understand me well enough. When you were 
on the Pier this morning, your eyes were just as wide 
open as anybody’s. And again this afternoon, when 
you were up on the Marine Parade.” 

Madge flushed a little, but said nothing. 

“You know as well as anybody that that fellow 
Hanbury is hanging about,” said Tom, regarding her 
•with suspicion. “ He is always loitering round, dodg- 


A MESSAGE. 


*33 


ing after you. And I won’t have it. I’ll write to the 
Chief Clerk if he doesn’t mind.” 

“ I don’t suppose the Chief Clerk and the Vice- 
Chancellor and the whole lot of them,” said Madge, 
pretending to be much interested in the tip of her cue, 
“ can expel a person from Brighton who is doing no 
harm.” 

“ Doing no harm ? If you didn’t encourage him, do 
you think he’d hang about like that ? If he knew dis- 
tinctly you wanted him to be off, do you think he’d 
spend his time slinking about the streets ? I believe 
he has been writing to you again.” 

This was quite a random shot ; but it told. 

“ He sent me one letter — not in his own handwriting,” 
Madge confessed, diffidently. 

“ Show it me ! ” 

“ I can’t. I burned it. I was afraid. Tom, you 
wouldn’t get the poor fellow into trouble ! ” 

“ I’ve no patience with you,” he said, angrily. “ Why 
can’t you be fair and above-board? Why don’t you 
send the fellow about his business at once — ” 

•‘Well, I have.” 

“Why don’t you settle the thing straight? You 
know Frank King wants to marry you; anybody can 
see that. Why don’t you have him, and be done with 
it?” 

Madge turned away a little, and said, with a very 
pretty smile, 

“ And so I would, if he would ask me.” 

Well, Mr. Tom thought he knew something of the 
ways of womankind, from having been brought up 
among so many; but this fairly took his breath away. 
He stared at her. He laid down his cue. 

“Well, I’m smashed,” he said at length. And then 
he added, slowly: “I’m glad I’ve got nothing to do 


*34 


THA T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCH. 


with you women. I believe you’d roast any fellow 
alive, and then cut him into bits, for fourpence-half- 
penny. It isn’t more than three months since you 
were crying your eyes out about that fellow Han- 
bury — ” 

“You were as anxious as any one he should be sent 
away,” retorted Madge. “It appears I can’t please 
every one. Perhaps, on the whole, it would be as well 
to continue the game, for I only want three to be out.” 

Tom gave up. He continued the game, and played 
so savagely and so well that poor Madge never got her 
three. And he did not recur to that subject except to 
say, the last thing at night, as the girls were leaving, 

“ Look here, Madge, that fellow Hanbury had better 
take care.” 

“ I suppose he can look after himself,” said Madge. 
“ I have nothing to do with him. Only you can’t ex- 
pect me not to be sorry for him. And how am I to 
send him away when I dare not speak to him ? And 
do you think the streets of Brighton belong to me?” 

Tom again gave up, but was more convinced than 
ever that women were strange creatures, who could 
not be straightforward even when they tried. From 
that and similar generalizations, however, he invariably 
excepted Nen. Nan did not belong to womankind as 
considered as a section of the human race. Nan was 
Nan. 

The next afternoon Captain King called to say good- 
by. He found the girls very busy over Christmas cards. 
Madge was painting little studies of flowers for excep- 
tionally favored people, and she invited him to look 
over these. 

“ They are very pretty,” he said. “ I hope the people 
who are fortunate enough to get them will value them. 

I mean they are not like ordinary Christmas cards.” 


A MESSAGE. 


“Oh, if you like them,” said Madge, modestly, “you 
might take one for yourself.” 

“ May I ? ” he said, regarding her ; “ and may I 
choose the one ? ” 

“ Oh yes, certainly,” she answered. 

“ I know the one I should like to take,” he said, still 
regarding her. “ This one.” 

It was a little bit of forget-me-not, very nicely painted 
— from memory. He showed it to her. 

“ May I take this one with me ? ” he said. 

“ Yes,” she answered, in a very low voice, and with 
her eyes cast down. 

After that there was a brief silence, only broken by 
the sound of Miss Edith’s pen, that young lady being 
at the other side of the table addressing envelopes. 

Captain Frank went back to Wiltshire, greatly treas- 
uring that bit of card-board, and making it the basis of 
many audacious guesses at the future. Nan came 
home from Lewes for Christmas, and Madge was par- 
ticularly affectionate toward her. 

“What pretty flowers you have!” Nan said, just 
after she had arrived — the first time, indeed, she went 
into the dining-room. 

“Yes,” Madge answered; “Captain King sent me 
flowers once or twice, and some of them have kept 
very well. But I wish they wouldn’t wire them.” 

Nan turned away quickly toward the window, and 
said nothing. 

Then Tom went down to Wiltshire, and was most 
warmly received at Kingscourt. Also pretty Mary 
Coventry, who was still staying in the house, was kind 
to this handsome, conceited boy ; and he was rather 
smitten; but he kept a tight hold on himself. “ No,” 
he said to himself, “I’m not going to marry any woman ; 
I know too much about them.” 


r 36 THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 

He had a royal time of it altogether ; but most of 
all he enjoyed the quieter days, when he and Frank 
King went shooting rabbits on the heath. It was sharp 
brisk work in the cold weather, better than standing 
in wet ploughed fields outside woods, and waiting un- 
til both toes and fingers got benumbed. There was 
no formality in this business, and no ladies turning up 
at lunch, and no heart-breaking when one missed. 
Frank King was excessively kind to him. Not caring 
very much for shooting himself, he was content to be- 
come Mr,» Tom’s henchman, and they got on very well 
together. Further, in the smoking-room at night, 
these two were thrown on each other’s conversation — 
for old Mr. King did not smoke---and it was remarkable 
how interesting Captain King found his friend’s talk. 
It was mostly about Madge and her sisters ; and Frank 
King listened eagerly and always would have Mr. Tom 
have another cigarette, while he was busy drawing 
imaginative pictures, and convincing himself more and 
more that Madge was no other than Nan, and that 
life had begun again for him, with all sorts of beauti- 
ful possibilities in it. For he could not be blind to the 
marked favor that the young lady had shown him ; 
and he had long ceased to have any fear of the shad- 
owy Hanbury, who was skulking somewhere unre- 
garded in the background. 

At length one night Captain Frank in a burst of con- 
fidence told Mr. Tom all about it, and asked him to 
say honestly what he thought the chances were. 
Would Lady Beresford have any objection ? Would 
Miss Margaret consider he had not known her suffi- 
ciently long or intimately? What was Mr. Tom’s 
own opinion? 

Mr. Tom flushed uneasily. 

“ I — well, you see — I keep out of that kind of thing 


A MESSAGE. 


*37 


as a rule. Women have such confounded queer ways. 
You’re sure to put your foot into it if you intermeddle. 
These girls are always worrying, people about their 
sweethearts — all but Nan. I wish to goodness they 
were all married: my life is made a burden to me 
amongst them.” 

“ But what do you think, Beresford ? Haven’t you 
any opinion ? What would you do in a similar case?” 

“I?” said Mr. Tom, with a laugh. “I suppose I 
should ask the girl, and if she didn’t like to say yes, 
she could do the other thing.” 

“ But — do you think there would be a chance ? ” 

“ Write and see,” said Mr. Tom, with another laugh ; 
further than that he would not interfere. 

Frank King considered for a time, and at last 
boldly determined to act on this advice. He sat up 
late that night, concocting a skilful, cautious, appeal- 
ing letter, and as he rewrote it carefully, all by himself, 
in the silence, it seemed to him almost as if he were 
beseeching Nan to reconsider the verdict she had given 
at Bellagio more than three years before. Life would 
begin all over again if only she would say yes. Some- 
times he found himself thinking of that ball in Spring 
Gardens, and of her startled shyness, and of her win- 
ning confidence, and anxious wish to please, until he 
recollected that it was Madge to whom he was writ- 
ing, and that Madge had never been to the ball at 
all. 

This fateful missive was left to be dispatched the 
first thing in the morning, and at the very least there 
must needs be two or three days’ interval. But it can 
not be said that he passed this time in terrible anxiety. 
He was secretly hopeful ; so much so that he had 
begged Mr. Tom, who ought to have gone back be- 
fore this time, to wait another day or so. His private 


T3$ THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH \ 

reason was that he hoped to accompany Madge s 
brother to Brighton. 

All the same, the crisis of a man’s life can not ap- 
proach without causing some mental disturbance even 
in the most hopeful. Long before the Kingscourt 
family had assembled round the breakfast table, Frank 
King had ridden over, on these two or three cold 
mornings, to the postal town, which was nearly two 
miles off, so that he should not have to wait for the 
arrival of the bag. And at last came a letter with the 
Brighton postmark. He glanced at the handwriting, 
and thought it was Madge’s. That was enough. He 
put it in his pocket without opening it, went out and 
got on his horse, and went well outside the little town 
into the quietude of the lanes before putting his hand 
into his pocket again and taking the letter out. 

No, he was not very apprehensive about the result, 
or he could not have carried the letter thus far un- 
opened. But all the same the contents surprised him. 
He had expected, at the worst, some mild refusal on 
the ground of haste ; and, at the best, an evasive hint 
that he might come to Brighton and talk to Lady Be- 
resford. But all the writing on this sheet of paper con- 
sisted of two words, “ From Madge”; and what accom- 
panied them was a bit of forget-me-not — not painted, 
this time, but a bit of the real flower. It was a pretty 
notion. It confessed much without saying much. 
There was a sort of maiden reticence about it, and yet 
kindness and hope. What Frank King did not know 
was this — that it was Nan Beresford who had suggest- 
ed that answer to his letter. 

He never knew how he got home that morning. He 
was all in a tempest of eagerness and delight ; he 
scarcely lived in to-day. It was next day — it was the 
future that seemed to be round him. He burst into 


A MESSAGE. 


139 


his friend’s bedroom before the breakfast gong had 
sounded. 

“ Beresford, I’ll go with you whenever you like, 
now. Whenever you like. I’m going to Brighton 
with you, I mean.” 

“ Oh, that’s it, is it? ” said Mr. Tom, without look- 
ing up — he was tying his shoes. 

“ I’ve heard from your sister, you know — ” 

“ I thought so. It’s all right, then, is it ?” 

“ I hope so. I’m very glad it’s settled. And you 
know I don’t want to turn you out of the house ; but 
you’ve been very kind waiting a day or two longer, 
and I should like to get to Brighton at once.” 

“ I’ll start in five minutes if you like,” said Mr. Tom, 
coolly, having finished with his shoes. “ And I sup- 
pose I ought to congratulate you. Well, I do. She’s 
a very good sort of girl. Only — ” 

He hesitated. It was inauspicious. 

“ What do you mean ?” said Captain Frank. 

“ Well, I’ve seen a good deal about women and their 
goings on, don’t you know,” said Mr. Tom, with a sort 
of shrug. “ They re always changing and chopping 
and twisting about. The best way is to marry them 
off-hand and take the nonsense out of them.” 

Captain Frank laughed. This was not at all alarm- 
ing. And when it became secretly known that Captain 
Frank was immediately going to Brighton to secure 
his promised bride, there was a great though discreet 
rejoicing at Kingscourt ; and even pretty Mary Coven- 
try came with her demure and laughing congratula- 
tions ; arid Mr. Tom was made more of than ever 
during the few hours longer that he remained in the 
house. Frank King had not time to think about Nan 
now ; it was Madge Beresford who had sent him that 
bit of forget-me-not. 


140 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

REVERIES. 

No sooner had Nan come back to Brighton again, 
and been installed once more in her former position, 
than the whole house seemed to be pervaded by a 
quite new sense of satisfaction, the cause of which was 
not even guessed at. The wheels of the domestic 
machinery worked far more smoothly ; even the serv- 
ants seemed to partake of the general brightness and 
cheerfulness. Edith, the stupid sister, put it down to 
the Christmas-time, and congratulated herself on her 
evergreens on the walls. Mr. Tom observed that the 
house was far better managed when Nan was at home. 
That meant that he found his slippers when he wanted 
them, and that there was always a taper on the chim- 
ney-piece in the billiard-room. Lady Beresford had 
all her little whims attended to ; and as for Madge, 
that young lady was greatly delighted to have a safe 
and sure confidante. For she was much exercised 
at this time both with her fears about Mr. Hanbury, 
who followed her about like a ghost, kept silent by the 
dread of Vice-Chancellors and tipstaffs, and her vain 
little hopes about Captain Frank King, whose inten- 
tions were scarcely a matter of doubt. Nan listened 
in her grave, sweet way that had earned for her, 
from Madge, the name of “ Old Mother Nan ” ; and 
then would say some nice thing to her sister; and 
then would carry her away on some charitable enter- 
prise. 

For this was the Christmas-time ; and what with 
continual choral services, and evergreens, and unearthly 
music in the still, cold nights, there was a sort of exalta- 


REVERIES. 


14 * 


tion in the air, and Nan wished to be practical. In 
consequence, Lady Beresford was gravely oppressed. 

“ I do believe, Nan/’ she said, vexedly one morning, 
as she was writing out a check — “ I do believe your 
only notion of Christianity is the giving away coals/’ 

“ And a very good notion too,” said Tom, who would 
allow no one to say anything against Nan. 

But then came that fearful letter from Frank King. 
It arrived on a January morning — on a clear and brill- 
iant forenoon, just as Nan and her younger sister were 
going out for a walk, tempted by the sunlight and the 
colors of the sea. Madge herself took it from the post- 
man at the door, glanced at the address, hastily opened 
the envelope, and guessed at, rather than read, the 
contents. 

“ Oh, Nan ! ” she said, hurriedly, “ wait a moment. 
There is something — something I want to speak to you 
about. Come into the dining-room. Oh, do you 
know what this is, Nan? Captain King has written/’ 

“Yes, dear,” said Nan, calmly and kindly, as she fol- 
lowed her into the empty dining-room. 

“ I must not show you the letter, must I? ” said the 
younger sister, eagerly, though she was herself still read- 
ing and re-reading it/ “ But you know what it is, 
Nan. And I must send an answer. Oh dear, what 
shall I do?” 

“ You ought to know, Madge,” her sister said. “You 
were not unprepared, surely ? I thought you expected 
it. I thought you would have had your mind made 
up.” 

“But it is so dreadful — so sudden — so terrible! 
Look at my hands — I am all shaking. Oh, Nan, what 
would you do — what would you do if you were 
me ? ” 

Nan seemed to be thinking of something far away ; 


1 42 THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH . 

it was after a second that she recalled herself to this 
question, and then she answered, with some astonish- 
ment, 

“ Don't you know your own mind, Madge ? " 

“ Well, I do in a way," said the younger sister, still 
staring at the letter. “ I like him well enough. I 
think it would do very well ; and there would be no 
trouble with any one. I am sorry for that poor fellow 
Hanbury ; but what is the use of his hanging about 
and keeping one nervous ? There is no use in it at all — 
nothing but bother. And I know Captain King is 
very fond of me, and I think he would be very kind ; 
and you know he is not going to sea again ; and 
mamma would be pleased. Do you think I should go 
to her now ? " 

“ What is the use of going to any one until you know 
what your mind is? " 

If the unhappy Hanbury could only have seen his 
sweetheart at this moment — staring blankly at the 
open letter, with a doubt on her face which was most 
probably inspired by some vague and tender recollection 
of himself! What might not have happened if only he 
could have intervened at this crisis, and appealed to 
her with eyes and speech, and implored her to defy 
these terrible authorities in London? But Madge 
kept looking at the letter; and then she shut it 
together ; and then she said, with decision : 

“ I think it’s the best thing I can do. Wait a minute. 
Nan ; I’ll go and tell mamma." 

When she came down stairs again she was quite radi- 
ant and eager in her joy. 

“Oh, I'm so glad ft’s all settled and over. I'm so 
glad there’ll be no more worry and bother. And really 
Captain King is one of the nicest-looking men we know 
— Edith has always said so — and he is quiet and pleas- 


REVERIES. 


ant in his manner — and very amusing too ; that is be- 
cause he has no pretence. And grateful for small kind, 
nesses ; I suppose, being so long at sea, and not seeing 
so many people/ he hasn’t got blast. Then he never 
pretends to be bored. But why are you so solemn, 
Nan ; doesn’t it please you ? ” 

Nan kissed her sister. 

“ I hope you will be very happy, dear/' she said, in 
her grave, kind way. 

“ Then I suppose I must answer his letter at once,” 
continued Madge, in her excited way. “ But how am 
I to do it, Nan? See how my fingers are all shaking; 
I couldn’t write. And it would take me a month to 
find out what to say — and here you are being kept in, 
when you are always wanting to be out in the open 
air — ” 

“Oh, don’t mind me, Madge. I will stay in with 
pleasure, if you want me.” 

“ But you sha’n’t stay in on my account, dear Mother 
Nan — not a bit of it — not for all the men in the world. 
And yet I ought to send him a message. I ought to 
write.” 

“ I think, Madge,” the elder sister said, slowly, “ if 
that is any trouble to you, you might send him a mes- 
sage ; he would understand without your writing much 
— a flower, perhaps — ” 

“ But what sort of flower?” said the younger sister, 
eagerly. 

Nan’s face flushed somewhat, and she seemed embar- 
rassed and slow to answer. 

“You — you should know yourself,” she said, turning 
her eyes aside. “ Any flower, perhaps — a bit of — of 
forget-me-not — ” 

“ Of course that would do very well : but where could 
you get forget-me-nots just now?” 


144 


THAT 'BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


Nan again hesitated ; she seemed to be forcing her- 
self to speak. 

“There’s a little bit in a button-hole in ’s win- 

dow,” she said at last ; “ I saw it there yesterday, at 
least.” 

“Dear Mother Nan,” said Madge, enthusiastically, 
“you areas clever as twenty Vice-Chancellors! We 
will walk along at once and see if it is still there. And 
in the mean time I will write a word on a sheet of pa- 
per — I can manage that, anyway — and you might ad- 
dress an envelope — ” 

“ Oh, no, I couldn’t do that,” said Nan, inadvertently 
shrinking back. 

“Very well, I will struggle through it,” said Madge, 
blithely ; and she went and got writing materials, and 
scrawled the few words necessary. 

They went out into the beautiful, clear, cold morn- 
ing, and walked along through the crowd of promenad- 
ers with their fresh-colored faces and furs telling of 
the wintry weather. And in due course of time they ar- 
rived at the florist’s window, and found the bit of for- 
get-me-not still in the little nosegay. Madge made 
no secret of her intention. She opened up the nose- 
gay on the counter of the shop, took out the piece of 
forget-me-not, put it in the folded sheet of paper, 
and then carefully — but with fingers no longer trem- 
bling — closed the envelope. When they had come out 
again, and gone and posted the letter, they found them- 
selves at a stand-still. 

“ Now I know you would like a longer walk, Nan,” 
said the younger sister, “ and I am sure you won’t 
mind if I go back at once. I do so want to write a 
long letter to Mary. And I haven’t told Edith yet, you 
know.” 

To this also Nan consented ; and so Madge departed. 


REVERIES. 


us 


Nan, left to herself, looked for a moment or two, some- 
what wistfully, at the far breadths of the shining water ; 
and then turned and walked slowly and thoughtfully 
along one of the wider thoroughfares leading up from 
the sea. The world seemed too bright and eager and 
busy out here ; she wished to be alone and in the dusk ; 
and in this thoroughfare there was a church, spacious 
and gloomy, that was kept open all the week round. 
Half unconsciously to herself she walked in that direc- 
tion. So absorbed was she that when she reached the 
entrance she scarcely perceived that there were some 
persons standing about. From the clear light of the 
sun she passed into a long covered way that was almost 
dark ; there was a low sound of music issuing from the 
building. It was a refuge she was seeking, and she 
vaguely hoped that there would be few people within. 

But just as she gained the entrance proper, and was 
about to enter the dark and dusky place before her, be- 
hold ! here was a great smiling throng coming along the 
aisle, headed by a bridegroom and a white-clothed 
bride. The music that was gayly pealing through the 
building was the “ Wedding March,” that no familiarity 
robs of its majestic swing and melody. Nan had sud- 
denly a sort of guilty self-consciousness. She felt she 
had no business even to look on at bridal processions. 
She passed in by another door — into that space of dark 
and empty pews ; and very soon the bridal people were 
all gone from the place, and apparently no one was 
left but the white-surpliced performers at the organ in 
the choir. 

That choir was a beautiful thing away beyond the 
dusk. The sunlight entering by the stained-glass win- 
dows filled it with a softly golden glory ; so that the 
splendors of the altar and the tall brass candlesticks 
and the seven swinging lamps and the organ itself were 


10 


THA T BE A UTIFUL WRR TCJf. 


rfS 

all suffused with it, and seemed to belong to some 
other world far away. And then after the “ Wedding 
March ” was over, there was a pause of silence, and a 
slight sound of feet in the echoing building behind ; 
and then the music began again — something distant, 
and sad, and yearning, like the cry of a soul seeking for 
light in the dark,- for comfort in despair. Nan, in her 
solitary pew, bowed her head and covered her face with 
her hands. This music was less picturesque, perhaps, 
than that she had heard in the cathedral at Lucerne ; 
but it had more of a human cry in it ; it was an appeal 
for guidance, for light — for light in the darkness of the 
world. The tears were running down Nan’s face. 
And then there came into a neighboring pew a woman 
dressed in a peculiar costume, all in black ; and she, 
too, knelt down and covered her face *with her hands. 
And Nan would fain have gone to her and said : 

“Oh, sister, take me with you and teach me. You 
have chosen your path in the world — the path of char- 
ity, and good-will and peace; let me help you ; let me 
give myself to the poor and the sick. There must be 
something somewhere for me to do in the world. Take 
me into your sisterhood ; I am not afraid of hardship ; 
let me be of some little use to those who are wretched 
and weary in heart.” 

By and by that lady in black rose, went into the 
open space fronting the altar, knelt one knee slightly, 
and then left. Presently Nan followed her, her head 
bent down somewhat, and her heart not very light. 

Just as she was leaving the interior of the church, 
some one stepped out of the vestry, followed her for a 
second, and then addressed her. She turned and rec- 
ognized Mr. Jacomb. He had not been officiating ; he 
was in ordinary clerical costume ; and there was some- 
thing in the primness of that costume that suited his 


REVERIES. 


HI 

appearance. For he was a singularly clean-looking 
man ; his face smooth-shaven ; his complexion of the 
fairest white and pink; his hair yellow almost to white- 
ness ; his eyes gray, clear, and kindly. For the rest 
he was about six-and-thirty ; of stoutish build ; and he 
generally wore a pleasant and complacent smile, as if 
the world had treated him kindly, despite his experi- 
ences in that poor parish in the southeast of London, 
and as if, whatever might happen to him, anxiety was 
not likely to put a premature end to his existence. 

''Dear me,” said he, “what a coincidence! I saw 
your sister Madge about twenty minutes ago. She 
seemed very happy about something or other.” 

“Mr. Jacomb,” said Nan, “do you know the lady 
who left a minute ago ?” 

“ No,” said he, wondering a little at the earnestness 
— or rather the absentness — of her manner. “ I only 
caught a glimpse of her. She belongs to one of the 
visiting sisterhoods.” 

Nan was silent for a second or two. 

“You came to the wedding, of course?” continued 
Mr. Jacomb, cheerfully. “A capital match, that, for 
young De la Poer. She will have £18,000 a year when 
her mother dies ; and she is pretty too. She puts a 
little side on, perhaps, when she’s talking to strangers ; 
but that’s nothing. His brother was at Oxford when 
I was there, I remember — an awfully fast fellow ; but 
they say all the sons of clergymen are — the other swing 
of the pendulum, you know. There’s a medium in all 
things ; and if one generation gives itself over too 
much to piety, the next goes as far the other way. I 
suppose its human nature.” 

This air of agreeable levity — this odor of worldli- 
ness (which was in great measure assumed) — did not 
seem to accord well with Nan’s present mood. She 


1 48 THA T BE A UTIFUL WR& TCH. 

was disturbed — uncertain — yearning for something, she 
knew not what — and the echoes of that strange cry in 
the music were still in her soul. Mr. Jacomb’s airs of 
being a man of the world — of being a clergyman who 
scorned to attach any esoteric mystery to his cloth, or 
to expect to be treated with a particular reverence — 
might put him on easy terms of friendship with Nan’s 
sisters, but they only made Nan regretful and some- 
times even impatient. Did he imagine the assumption 
of flippancy made him appear younger than he really 
was? In any case it was bad policy so far as Nan was 
concerned. Nan was a born worshipper. She was 
bound to believe in something or somebody. And the 
story she had heard of the Rev. Charles Jacomb’s as- 
siduous, earnest, uncomplaining labor in that big parish 
had at the very outset won for him her great regard. 
He did not understand how he was destroying her 
child-like faith in him by his saturnine little jokes. 

“ Mr. Jacomb,” said Nan, timidly, “I should be so 
greatly obliged to you if you could find out something 
more for me about those sisterhoods. They must do 
a great deal of good. And their dress is such a pro- 
tection ; they can go anywhere without fear of rude- 
ness or insult. I suppose it is not a difficult thing to 
get admission — ” 

He was staring at her in amazement. 

“ But not for you — not for you ! ” he cried. “ Why, 
it is preposterous for you to think of such a thing. 
There are plenty who have nothing else in the world 
to look forward to. You have all your life before you 
yet. My dear Miss Anne, you must not indulge in 
day-dreams. Look at your sister Madge. Oh, by the 
way, she said something about your mamma having 
sent me a note this morning, asking me to dine with 
you on Friday evening, and then remembering, after 


REVERIES . 


149 


the note was posted, that on that evening you had 
taken a box for the pantomime. Well, there need be 
no trouble about that, if I may join your party to go 
there also.” 

Nan said nothing ; but perhaps there was the slight- 
est trace of surprise, or interrogation in her look. 
Immediately he said : 

“ Oh, I very much approve of pantomimes, from a pro 
fessional point of view — I do really. You see, the imag- 
ination of most people is very dull — it wants a stimulus 
— and I am perfectly certain, if the truth were known, 
that the great majority of people in this country have 
derived their pictorial notions of heaven from the 
transformation-scenes in pantomimes. I am certain of 
it. John Martin’s pictures — the only other alternative 
— are not striking enough. So, on the whole, I very 
much approve of pantomimes ; and I shall be very glad 
to go with you on Friday, if I may.” 

Nan made some excuse, shook hands with him, and 
went. She walked home hurriedly, she knew not why ; 
it almost seemed as though she wanted to leave some- 
thing well behind her. And she was very kind to her sis . 
ters for the remainder of that day, but somewhat grave. 

Meanwhile Madge’s letter to her elder sister in Eng- 
land had been sent. And the first answer to it was 
contained in a postscript to a letter addressed by Mary 
Beresford to her mother. This was the postscript : 

“ What is this nonsense Madge ivrites to me about her- 
self and Holford King? Has Captain King got it into 
his head that he would like to marry his deceased wife's 
sister ? ” 

Lady Beresford threw the letter aside with a sigh, 
wishing people would not write in conundrums. 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


r 5 # 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE ACCEPTED SUITOR. 

“ Oh, Nan ! here is the cab. What shall I say to him ? 
What am I to say to him? ” 

“ I think you ought to know yourself, dear," said 
Nan, gently, and then she slipped away from the room, 
leaving Madge alone and standing at the window. 

But after all it was not so serious a matter. Some 
one came into the room, and Madge turned. 

“ May I call you Madge ?” said he, holding both 
her hands. 

She answered, with her eyes cast down, 

“ I suppose I must call you Frank.” 

That was all, for at the same moment Mr. Tom was 
heard calling to his mother and sisters that Captain 
King had arrived ; and directly after Lady Beresford 
and Edith entered the room, followed by Mr. Tom, 
who was declaring that they must have dinner put for- 
ward to six o’clock, if they were all to go to the pan- 
tomime. 

There was a little embarrassment — not much. Frank 
King kept looking toward the door. He wondered 
why Nan had not come with the others. He was cu- 
rious to see how much she had changed. Perhaps he 
should not even recognize her? Without scarcely 
knowing why, he was hoping she might not be quite 
the Nan of former days. 

Mr. Tom consulted his watch again. 

“ Shall I ring and tell them to hurry on dinner, 
mother? ” 

“We can not alter the dinner hour now,” Lady 
Beresford said, plaintively. “ It has already been al- 


THE ACCEPTED SUITOR. Ki 

tered once. Both Mr. Roberts and Mr. Jacomb prom- 
ised to come at half past six, so that you might all go 
to the pantomime together in good time.” 

“ What?” cried Mr. Tom. “Jacomb? Did you say 
Jacomb, mother?” 

“ I said Mr. Roberts and Mr. Jacomb,” said his 
mother. 

“ And what the etcetera is he doing in that gallery ! ” 
exclaimed Mr. Tom. “Well, I guess we shall have a 
high old time of it at dinner. Soda-water and incense. 
But there’s one thing they always agree about. Get 
them on to port-wine vintages, and they run together 
like a brace of greyhounds.” 

Here Captain King begged to be excused, as there 
was but little time for him to go along to his hotel 
and get dressed for this early dinner. When — being- 
accompanied to the door by Mr. Tom himself — he had 
left, Madge said : 

“ How do you like him, mamma ? Are you pleased 
with him? ” 

“ He has not spoken to me yet, you know,” said the 
mother, wearily. She had had to go through several 
such scenes, and they worried her. 

“ Oh, but it’s all arranged,” Madge said, cheerfully. 
“ He won’t bother you about a solemn interview. It’s 
all arranged. How did you think he looked, Edith ? 
I do hope he won’t lose that brown color by not go- 
ing back to sea; it suits him ; I don’t like pasty-faced 
men. Now Mr. Jacomb isn’t pasty-faced, although 
he is a clergyman. By the way, what has become of 
Nan?” 

Nan had been quite forgotten. Perhaps she was 
dressing early, or looking after the dinner-table; at all 
events, it was time for the other sisters to go and get 
ready also. 




THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


Punctual to the moment, Captain King arrived at 
the door, and entered, and went up-stairs. He was not 
a little excited. Now he would see Nan — and not only 
her, but also this clergyman, whom he was also curious 
to see. At such a moment — arriving as Madge’s ac- 
cepted suitor — it was not Nan that he ought to have 
been thinking about. But it was Nan whom his first 
quick glance round the drawing-room sought out ; and 
instantly he knew she was not there. 

Everybody else was, however. Mr. Roberts, with 
his conspicuous red opal and diamonds, was standing 
on the hearth-rug, with his back to the fire, talking to 
Lady Beresford, who was cushioned up in an easy- 
chair. Mr. Jacomb was entertaining the two sisters, 
Edith and Madge, who were laughing considerably. 
Mr. Tom was walking about with his hands in his 
pockets, ferocious, for dinner was already eighteen sec- 
onds late. 

Frank King had not much time to study the looks or 
manners of this clergyman to whom he was briefly in- 
troduced, for already his attention, which was at the 
moment exceedingly acute, was drawn to the opening 
of the door. It was Nan, who slipped in quietly. Ap- 
parently she had seen the others before, for, when she 
caught sight of him, she at once advanced toward him, 
with a grave, quiet smile on her face, and an out- 
stretched hand. 

“Oh, how do you do, Captain King?” she said, in 
the most friendly way, and without the least trace of 
embarrassment. 

Of course she looked at his eyes as she said so. Per- 
haps she did not notice the strange, startled look that 
had dwelt there for an instant as he regarded her — a 
look as if he had seen some one whom he had not ex- 
pected to see — some one whom he almost feared to see. 


THE ACCEPTED SUITOR. 


153 


He could not speak, indeed. For the moment he had 
really lost command of himself, and seemed bewildered. 
Then he stammered : 

“How do you do, Miss Anne? I am glad to see 
you looking so well. You — you have not altered much 
— anything — during these last three or four years.” 

“Oh, Nan has altered a great deal, I can tell you,” 
said Mr. Tom ; “ and for the better. She isn’t half as 
saucy as she used to be.” 

But Nan had turned to her mother, to say, privately : 

“They are quite ready, mamma. The shades just 
came in time ; and the candles are all lit now.” 

Then she turned to Captain King again. If she was 
acting non-embarrassment, she was acting very well. 
The clear, friendly, gray-blue eyes regarded him with 
frankness ; there was no touch of tell-tale color in the 
fair, piquant, freckled face ; she smiled as if to one in 
whom she had perfect confidence. 

“ It was so kind of you,” she said, “to have let my 
brother pay you a visit to Kingscourt ; I am afraid he 
must be dull here sometimes. And he says he enjoyed 
it immensely, and that every one was so kind to him. 
I hope he didn’t disgrace himself — I mean in the 
shooting; you see, he has not had a great deal of 
practice.” 

“ Oh, he shot very well,” said Captian Frank King, 
somewhat hurriedly. “ Oh yes, very well. I should 
call him a very good shot. I am glad he liked his 
visit.” But Frank King was not looking into Nan’s 
eyes as he spoke. 

Then some one at the door said, “ Dinner is served, 
your ladyship ; ” and the company arranged themselves 
according to order, and went down stairs. It fell to 
Captain King’s lot to go down last, with Lady Beres- 
ford ; but when they reached the dining-table he found 


*54 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH 


that his neighbor was to be Madge, and he was glad 
of that. 

Nan was opposite to him ; he had discovered that at 
the first glance, and thereafter he rather avoided look- 
ing that way. He endeavored to entertain Lady 
Beresford, and occasionally spoke a little to Madge ; 
but he was somewhat preoccupied on the whole ; and 
very frequently he might have been caught regarding 
the clergyman-guest with an earnest scrutiny. Mr. 
Jacomb, to do him justice, was making himself the 
friend of everybody. He could talk well and pleasantly ; 
he had a number of little jokes and stories ; and he was 
making himself generally agreeable. The efflorescent 
Roberts was anxious to know — as anxious, that is, as a 
very devoted regard for his menu would permit — the 
precise position held by a certain High-Churchman 
who was being harried and worried by the law courts 
at this time; but Mr. Jacomb, with great prudence, 
would have nothing to say on such subjects. He 
laughed the whole matter off. He preferred to tell 
anecdotes about his Oxford days, and gave you to un- 
derstand that these were not far removed from the 
present time. You might have guessed that he and 
his companions were the least little bit wild. The 
names of highly respectable dignitaries in the Church 
were associated with stories of scrapes that were quite 
alarming, and with sayings that just bordered here and 
there on the irreverent. But then to a clergyman 
much is permitted, for it is his business to know where 
the line should be drawn ; other people might not feel 
quite so safe. 

All this time Captain Frank King was intently re- 
garding Mr. Jacomb ; and Nan saw it. The smile died 
away from her face. She grew self-absorbed; she 
scarcely lifted her eyes. 


THE ACCEPTED SUITOR. 


155 


“ Nan, what’s the matter with you ? ” said her brother 
Tom to her, privately. “You’re not going to cry, are 
you ? ” 

She looked up with her frank, clear eyes, and said, 

“ I was trying to remember some lines near the be- 
ginning of ‘ Faust.’ They are about a clergyman and 
a comedian.” 

This was beyond Mr. Tom; and so he said nothing. 
But what Nan had meant had been uttered in a mo- 
ment of bitterness, and was entirely unjust. Mr. Ja- 
comb was not failing in any proper respect for his 
sacred calling. But he was among some young people ; 
he hoped they would not think his costume coercive ; 
he wished to let them know that his youth also had 
only been the other day, as it were, and that he appre- 
ciated a joke as well as any one. If his speech at the 
moment was frivolous — and indeed intentionally frivo- 
lous — his life had not been frivolous. He had never 
intrigued or cajoled for preferment, but had done the 
work that lay nearest him. At Oxford he had toadied 
no one. And his “ record,” as the Americans say, in 
that parish in the southeast of London was unblem- 
ished and even noble. 

But he made a hash of it that evening, somehow 
Nan Beresford grew more and more depressed and dis- 
heartened — almost ashamed. If Frank King had not 
been there, perhaps she would have cared less ; but she 
knew — without daring to look — that Frank King was 
regarding and listening with an earnest and cruel scru- 
tiny. 

When the time came for their starting for the theatre, 
Nan disappeared. Tom began to make a noise, and 
then the message came that, Please, sir, Miss Anne 
had a headache, and might she be excused ? Tom 
made a further noise, and declared that the whole thing 


i 56 THA T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCH. 

must be put off. Go to see a pantomime without Nan 
he would not. Then a further message came from 
Miss Anne, saying that she would be greatly distressed 
if they did not go ; and so, after no end of growling 
and grumbling, Mr. Tom put his party into two cabs 
and took them off. Nan heard the roll of the wheels 
lessen and cease. 

It was about half past eleven that night that some 
one noisily entered Nan’s room, and lit the gas. Nan, 
opening her eyes — for she was in bed and asleep — be- 
held a figure there, all white with snow. 

“ Oh, Nan,” said the new-comer, in great excitement, 
“ I must tell you all about it. There has been such 
fun. Never such a gale known on the south coast — ” 

“ Child ! ” said the now thoroughly awakened sister, 
“ go at once and take off your things. You will be wet 
through ! ” 

“ Oh, this is nothing ! ” said Madge, whose pink 
cheeks showed what she had faced. “ I left a whole 
avalanche in the hall. The streets are a foot deep al- 
ready. Not a cab to be got. We had to fight our 
way from the theatre arm in arm ; the wind and snow 
were like to lift us off our feet altogether. Frank said 
it reminded him of Canada. All the gentlemen are 
below ; Tom would have them come in, to get them 
some mulled claret.” 

Madge’s ejaculatory sentences came to an end sim- 
ply for want of breath. She was all panting. 

“ Such a laughing there was ! Frank and I ran full 
tilt against a gentleman who was coming full sail be- 
fore the wind. ‘ Hard a-port ! ’ Frank cried. There 
was an awful smash. My hat blew off ; and we hid in 
a doorway till Frank got it back again.” 

At Nan’s earnest entreaties her younger sister at 
last consented to take off her outer garments and robe 


THE ACCEPTED -SUITOR. i 57 

herself in some of Nan’s — meantime shaking a good 
deal of snow on to the carpet. Then she came and 
sat down. 

“I must tell you all about it, dear Nan,” she said 
“ for I am so happy ; and it has been such a delight- 
ful evening. You can’t imagine what a splendid com- 
panion Frank is— taking everything free and easy, and 
always in such a good humor. Well, we went to the 
theatre ; and of course Edith wanted to show herself 
off, so I had the corner of the box with the curtains ; 
and Frank sat next me, of course — it was ‘Cinderella ’ 
— beautiful ! — I never saw such brilliant costumes ; 
and even Edith was delighted with the way they sang 
the music. Mind, we didn’t know that by this time 
the storm had begun. It was all like fairy-land. But 
am I tiring you, Nan ?” said Madge, with a sudden 
compunction. “ Would you rather go to sleep again ? ” 

“Oh no, dear.” 

“ Is your headache any better? ” 

“ A great deal.” 

“ Shall I get you some eau-de-Cologne ? ” 

“Oh no.” 

“ Does it sound strange to you that I should call him 
Frank ?” It did to me at first. But of course it had to 
be done ; so I had to get over it.” 

“You don’t seem to have had much difficulty,” said 
Nan, with an odd kind of a smile. 

“ Well,” Madge confessed, “he isn’t like other men. 
There’s no pretence about him. He makes friends 
with you at once. And you can’t be very formal with 
any one who is lugging you through the snow.” 

“ No, of course not,” said Nan, gravely. “ I was not 
saying there could be anything wrong in calling him 
Frank.” 

“ Well, the pantomime ; did I tell you how good it 


158 THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 

was? Mr. Roberts says he never saw such beautifully 
designed dresses in London ; and the music was lovely 
— oh ! if you had heard Cinderella, how she sang, you 
would have fallen in love with her, Nan. We all did. 
Then we had ices. There’s a song which Cinderella 
sings Frank promised to get for mej but I can’t sing. 
All I’m good for is to show off Edith.” 

“You ought to practice more, dear.” 

“ But it’s no good once you are married. You always 
drop it. If I have any time I’ll take to painting. 
Y ou see, you have no idea, in a house like this, the 
amount of trouble there is in keeping up a place like 
Kingscourt.” 

“But you know, Madge, Mrs. Holford King is there.” 

“ She can’t be there always ; she’s very well up in 
years,” said the practical Madge. “ And you know the 
whole estate is now definitely settled on Frank — though 
there are some heavy mortgages. We sha’n’t be able 
to entertain much for the first few years, I dare say — 
but we shall always be glad to have you, Nan.” 

Nan did not say anything ; she turned her face away 
a little bit. 

“Nan,” said her sister, presently, “didn’t Mary and 
Edith have a notion that Captain King was at one 
time rather fond of you?” 

Nan’s face flushed hastily. 

“ They — they — imagined something of that kind, I 
believe.” 

“ But was it true ? ” 

Nan raised herself up and took her sister’s hand in 
her two hands. 

“You see, dear,” she said, gently, and with her eyes 
cast down, “ young men — I mean, very young men — 
have often passing fancies that don’t mean very much. 
Later on they make their serious choice.” 


THE ACCEPTED SUITOR . 


*59 


“ But, * said Madge, persistently — “ but I suppose he 
never really asked you to be his wife?” 

“ His wife?” said Nan, with well-stimulated surprise. 
“ Recollect, Madge, I was just over seeventeen. You 
don’t promise to be anybody’s wife at an age like that ; 
you are only a child then.” 

“ I am only eighteen,” said Madge. 

“ Rut there is a great difference. And recollect that 
Captain King is now older, and knows better what his 
wishes are, and what way his happiness lies. You 
ought to be very proud, Madge ; and you should try to 
make him proud of you also.” 

“ Oh, I will, Nan ; I will really. I wish you would 
teach me a lot of things.” 

“ What things? ” 

“ Oh, you know. All the sort of stuff that you 
know. Tidal waves and things.” 

“ But Captain King won’t have anything more to do 
with tidal waves.” 

“Then we’ll go round the shops to-morrow, Nan ; 
and you’ll tell me about Chippendale furniture and 
blue china.” 

“ Don’t you think there will be enough of that at 
Kingscourt ; and just such things as you couldn’t get 
to buy in any shops ! ” 

“Then what am I to do, Nan?” 

“You can try to be a good wife, dear, and that’s 
better than anything.” 

Madge rose. 

“ I’ll let you off, Nan. But I do feel terribly selfish. 
I haven’t said a single word about you — ” 

“ Oh, but I dont want anything said about me,” said 
Nan, almost in alarm. 

“ Well, you know, Nan everybody says this : that a 
clergyman’s wife has more opportunities of doing good 


160 THA T BE A UTIFUL WRETCH, 

than any other woman ; for, you see, they are in the 
middle of it all, and they can interfere as no one else 
can, and it is expected of them, and the poor people 
don’t object to them, as they might to others.” 

“ Oh, I think that is quite true,” said Nan, thought- 
fully — perhaps with a slight sigh. “Yes, I have often 
thought of that.” 

“And you know, dear, that was what Providence 
meant you to be,” said Madge, with a friendly smile. 
“ That is just what you were made for — to be kind 
to other people. Good-night, old Mother Nan.” 

“ Good-night, dear.” 

They kissed each other, and Madge turned off the 
gas and left. Presently, however, Madge returned, 
opened the door, and came in on tiptoe. 

“ Nan, you are not asleep yet ? ” 

“ Of course not.” 

“ I wanted to ask you, Nan ; do you think he would 
like me to work a pair of slippers for him ? ” 

“No doubt he would,” was the quiet answer. 

“For I was thinking it would be so nice if you would 
come with me to-morrow and help me to choose the 
materials; and then, you see, Nan, you might sketch 
me some design, out of your own head, for you are so 
clever at those things, and that would be better than 
a shop pattern. And then,” added Madge, “ I should 
tell him it was your design.” 

Nan paused for a second. 

“ I will do whatever you w^nt, Madge ; but you 
must not say that I made the design for you. It won’t 
be worth much, at the best. I would rather have 
nothing said about it, dear.” 

“Very well, Nan ; that’s just like you.” 


A WHITE WORLD . 


161 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A WHITE WORLD. 

Next morning it still snowed and blew hard ; no 
one could go out ; it was clearly a day to be devoted to 
indoor amusements. And then Frank King, despite 
the state of the streets and the absence of cabs, made 
his way along, and was eagerly welcomed. As Mr. 
Tom’s companion he was to spend the whole day there. 
Billiards, music, luncheon, painting — they would pass 
the time somehow. And meanwhile the gusts of wind 
rattled the windows, and the whirling snow blurred 
out the sea, and Mr. Tom kept on big fires. 

Nan remained in her own room. When Madge went 
up to bring her down she found her reading Thomas a 
Kempis. 

“ Frank has asked twice where you were,” Madge 
remonstrated. 

“But that is not a command,” said Nan, with a 
smile. “ I should have thought, judging by the sound, 
that you were being very well amused below.” 

Madge went away, and in about an hour after came 
back. She found that her sister had put away “ De 
Imitatione Christi,” and was at her desk. 

“Writing! To whom?” 

“To the Editor of the Times,” said Nan, laughing 
at her sister’s instantaneous dismay. 

“ The Times ! Are you going to turn a blue stock- 
ing, Nan ? ” 

“ Oh no ; it’s only about blankets. You can read 
the letter ; do you think he will print it ? ” 

This was the letter which Madge read, and which 
was written in a sort of handwriting that some editors 
would be glad to see oftener : 


1 62 THA T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCH. 

“ Dear Sir, — The government interfere to punish a 
milkman who adulterates milk with water ; and I wish 
to put the question in your columns why they should 
not also punish the manufacturers who dress blankets 
with arsenic ? Surely it is a matter of equal impor- 
tance. Poor people can get along without milk, unless 
there are very small children in the house ; but when 
they have insufficient food, and insufficient fire, and 
scant clothes, and perhaps also a leaky roof, a good 
warm pair of blankets is almost a necessity. You can 
not imagine what a compensation it is, especially in 
weather like the present ; but how are the charitably 
disposed to take such a gift to a poor household when 
it may become the instrument of death or serious ill- 
ness ? Dear sir, I hope you will call upon the govern- 
ment to put down this wicked practice : and I am, yours 
respectfully, 

“An English Girl.” 

“ Oh, that’s all right,” said Madge, who had feared 
that her sister had taken to literature ; “ that’s quite 
the right thing for you. Of course, a clergyman’s wife 
must know all about blankets, and soup kitchens, and 
things.” 

Nan flushed a little, and said quickly, and with an 
embarrassed smile : 

“ I thought of putting in something about his ‘ elo- 
quent pen ’ or his * generous advocacy ; ’ but I suppose 
he gets a great deal of that kind of flattery, and isn’t 
to be taken in. I think I will leave it as it is. It is 
really most shameful that such things should be al- 
lowed.” 

“When are you coming down to see Frank? ” 

“ By and by, dear. I am going now to get mamma 
her egg and port-wia* ” 


A WHITE WORLD . 


163 


“ I know Frank wants to see you.” 

“Oh, indeed!” she said, quietly, as she folded up 
the letter. 

That memorable snow-storm raged all day ; the shops 
fronting the sea were shut ; the whole place looked 
like some vast, deserted, white City of the Dead. But 
toward evening the squalls moderated ; that fine, pene- 
trating, crystalline snow ceased to come in whirls and 
gusts ; and people began to get about, the black fig- 
ures making their way over or through the heavy drifts, 
or striking for such places as the force of the wind had 
driven bare. Here and there shovels were in requisi- 
tion to clear a pathway ; it was clearly thought that 
the gale was over ; the Beresfords and their guest be- 
gan to speak of an excursion next day to Stanmer 
Park, lest peradventure it might be possible to have a 
lane or two swept on the ice for a little skating. 

The next morning proved to be brilliantly beauti- 
ful ; and they were all up and away betimes on their 
somewhat hopeless quest — all, that is to say, except 
Nan ; for she had sundry pensioners to look,after, who 
were likely to have fared ill during the inclement 
weather. Nan put on her thickest boots and her ul- 
ster, and went out into the world of snow. The skies 
were blue and clear ; the air was fresh and keen ; it 
was a relief to be out after that monotonous confine- 
ment in the house. 

Nan went her rounds, and wished she was a million- 
aire, for the fine snow had penetrated everywhere, and 
there was great -distress. Perhaps she was really try- 
ing to imagine herself a clergyman’s wife * at all 
events, when she had grown tired, and perhaps a little 
heartsick, it was no wonder that she should think of 
going into that church, which was always open, for a 
little rest, and solace, and soothing quiet, 


ro4 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


This was what she honestly meant to do — and, 
moreover, it was with no expectation of meeting Mr. 
Jacomb there, for it was almost certain that he also 
would be off on a round of visitations. She had a 
craving for quiet ; perhaps some slow, grateful music 
would be filling the air ; there would be silence in the 
vast, hushed place. 

Well, it was by the merest accident that her eyes 
happened to light on a vessel that was scudding up 
Channel under double-reefed top-sails ; and she stood 
for a minute to watch it. Then she, also inadver- 
tently, perceived that the coast-guardsman over the 
way had come out of his little box, and was similarly 
watching the vessel — through his telescope. Nan hes- 
itated for a second. The snow was deep, though a 
kind of path had been trodden a few yards farther 
along. Then she walked quickly on till she came to 
that path, crossed, went back to the coast-guardsman, 
and addressed him, with a roseate glow on her 
cheek : 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon — but — but I suppose you 
know Singing Sal? ” 

‘‘Yes, miss,” said the little Celtic-looking man with 
the brown beard. He was evidently surprised. 

“ Do you know where she is? I hope she wasn’t in 
the storm yesterday. She hasn’t been along this way 
lately ? ” 

“ No, miss ; not that I knows of.” 

“ Thank you, I am very much obliged.” 

“ Wait a minute, miss — Wednesday ; — yes, it was last 
night, I believe, as Sal was to sing at a concert at Up- 
dene. Yes, it was. Some o’ my mates at Cuckmere 
got leave to go.” 

“ Updene farm ? ” 


A WHITE WORLD. 165 

“Yes, miss,” said the wiry little sailor, with a 
grin. 

“ That’s promotion for Sal — to sing at a concert.” 

“ I don’t see why she should not sing at a concert,” 
said Nan, regarding him with her clear gray eyes, so 
that the grin instantly vanished from his face. “ I’ve 
heard much worse singing at many a concert. Then, 
if she was at Updene last night, she would most ljkely 
come along here to-day ? ” 

“ I don’t know, miss,” said the man, who knew much 
less about Singing Sal’s ways than did Miss Anne 
Beresford. “ Mayhap the concert didn’t come off, 
along the snow.” 

Nan again thanked him, and continued on her way 
eastward.* She was thinking. Somehow she had quite 
forgotten about the church. The air around her was 
wonderfully keen and exhilarating ; the skies overhead 
were intensely blue ; out there on the downs the soft 
white snow would be beautiful. Nan walked on at a 
brisker pace, and her spirits rose. The sunlight seemed 
to get into her veins. And then her footing required 
a great deal of attention, and she had plenty of active 
exercise ; for though here and there the force of the 
wind had left the roads almost bare, elsewhere the snow 
had formed long drifts of three to five feet in depth, 
and these had either to be got round or plunged 
through. Then, up Kemp Town way, where there is 
less traffic, her difficulties increased. The keen air 
seemed to make her easily breathless. But at all events 
she felt comfortably warm, and the sun felt hot on her 
cheek. 

She had at length persuaded herself that she was anx- 
ious about Singing Sal’s safety. Many people must 
have perished in that snow-storm — caught unawares on 
the lonely downs. At all events, she could ask at one 


1 66 THA T BE A UTJFUL WRE TCH. 

or two of the coast-guard stations if anything had been 
heard of Sal. It was just possible she might meet her, 
if her entertainment at Updene farm had come off. 

At Black R'ock station they had heard nothing ; but 
she went on all the same. For now this was a wonder- 
ful and beautiful landscape all around her, up on these 
high cliffs ; and the novelty of it delighted her, though 
the bewildering white somewhat dazzled her eyes. 
Toward the edge of the cliffs, where the wind had 
swept across, there was generally not more than an 
inch or two of snow — hard and crisp, with traceries of 
birds’ feet on it, like long strings of lace ; but a few 
yards on her left the snow had got banked up in the 
most peculiar drifts, resembling in a curious manner 
the higher ranges of the Alps. Sometimes, however, 
the snow became deep here also ; so that she had to 
betake herself to the road, where the farmers’ men 
around had already cut a way through the deeper stop- 
pages ; and there she found herself going along a white 
gallery — yellow-white on the left, where the sunlight 
fell on the snow, but an intense blue on the right, where 
the crystalline snow, in shadow, reflected the blue of 
the sky overhead. And still she ploughed on her way, 
with all her pulses tingling with life and gladness; for 
this wonder of yellow whiteness and blue whiteness, 
and the sunlight, and the keen air, all lent themselves 
to a kind of fascination ; and she scarcely perceived 
that her usual landmarks were gone : it was enough 
for her to keep walking, stumbling, sinking, avoiding 
the deeper drifts, and farther and farther losing herself 
in the solitariness of this white, hushed world. 

Then, far away, and showing very black against the 
white, she perceived the figure of a woman, and in- 
stantly jumped to the conclusion that that must be 
Singing Sal. But what was Sal — if it were she — about ? 


A WHITE WORLD. 


167 


That dark figure was wildly swaying one arm, like an 
orator declaiming to an excited assemblage. Had the 
dramatic stimulus of the previous night’s entertainment 
— Nan ^ked herself — got into the woman’s brain ? 
Was she reciting poetry to that extravagant gesturing? 
Nan walked more slowly now, and took breath ; while 
the woman, whoever she was, evidently was coming 
along at a swinging pace. 

No ; that was no dramatic gesture. It was too mo- 
notonous. It looked more as if she was sowing — to im- 
perceptible furrows. Nan’s eyes were very long-sighted, 
but this thing puzzled her altogether. She now cer- 
tainly looked like a farmer’s man scattering seed-corn. 

Singing Sal saw and recognized her young lady friend 
at some distance, and seemed to moderate her gestures, 
though these did not quite cease. When she came up, 
Nan said to her : 

“ What are you doing ? ” 

“ Well, miss,” said she, with a bright smile — her face 
was quite red with the cold air, and her hair not so 
smooth as she generally kept it — “ my arm does ache, 
to tell the truth. And my barley’s nearly done. I 
have tried to scatter it wide, so as the finches and larks 
may have a chance, even when the jackdaws and rooks 
are at it.” 

“ Are you scattering food for the birds, then ? ” 

“ They’re starved out in this weather, miss ; and then 
the boys come out wi’ their guns ; and the dicky-laggers 
are after them too — ” 

“ The what ? ” 

“ The* bird-catchers, miss. If I was a farmer, now, 
I’d take a horsewhip, I would, and I’d send those gentry 
double-quick back to Whitechapel. And the gentle- 
folks, miss, it isn’t right of them to encourage the 
trapping of larks when there’s plenty of other food to 


1 6 S THA T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCH. 

be got. Well, my three-penn’orth o’ barley that I 
bought in Newhaven is near done now.” 

She looked into the little wallet that she had twisted 
round in front of her. % 

“ Oh, if you don’t mind,” said Nan, eagerly, “ I will 
give you a shilling — or two or three shillings — to get 
some more.” 

“ You could do better than that, miss,” said Sal. 
“ Maybe you know some one that lives in Lewes Cres- 
cent ? ” 

“ Yes, I do.” 

“ Well, ye see, miss, there’s such a lot o’ birds as 
won’t eat grain at all ; and if you was to get the key of 
the garden in Lewes Crescent, and get a man to sweep 
the snow off a bit of the grass, and your friends might 
throw down some mutton-bones and scraps from the 
kitchen, and the birds from far and near would find it 
out — being easily seen, as it might be. Half the 
thrushes and blackbirds along this country-side ’ll be 
dead before this snow gives out.” 

“ Oh, I will go back at once and do that,” said Nan, 
readily. 

“Look how they’ve been running about all the 
morning,” said this fresh-colored, dark-eyed woman, 
regarding the traceries on the snow at her feet. “ Most 
of them larks — you can see the spur. And that’s a 
rook, with his big heavy claws. And there’s a hare, 
miss — I should say he was trotting as light as could be 
— and there’s nothing uglier than a trotting hare — he’s 
like a race-horse walking — all stiff and jolting, because 
of the high aunches — haunches, miss. They’re all 
bewildered-like, birds and beasts the same. I saw the 
pad of a fox close by Rottingdean ; he must have come 
a long way to try for a poultry-yard. And, what’s rarer, 
I saw a covey of partridges, miss, settle down on the 


A WHITE WORLD . 


169 


sea as I was coming along by Saltdean Gap. They 
was tired out, poor things ; and not driven before the 
wind either, but fighting against it, and going out to sea 
blind-like ; and then I saw them sink down on to the wa- 
ter, and then the waves knocked them about anyway. I 
hear there was a wonderful sight of brent geese up by 
Berling Gap yesterday — But I’m keeping ye standing 
in the cold, miss — ’’ 

“ I will walk back with you,” said Nan, turning. 

“ No, miss. No, thank you, miss,” said Sal, stur- 
dily. 

“ But only as far as Lewes Crescent,” said Nan, with 
a gentle laugh. “ You know I am going to stop there 
for the mutton-bones. I want to know what has hap- 
pened to you since the last time I saw you : that’s a 
good while ago now.” 

“ Two things, miss, has happened, that I’m proud of,” 
said Sal, as the two set out to face the brisk westerly 
wind. “ I was taking a turn through Surrey ; and when 

I was at they told me that a great poet lived close 

by there — Mr. .” 

“Of course every one knows Mr. ,” said Nan. 

“I didn’t,” said Sal, rather shamefacedly. “You 
see, miss, the two I showed you are enough company 
for me ; and I haven’t got money to buy books wi\ 
Well, I was passing near the old gentleman’s house, 
and he came out, and he spoke to me as we went along 
the road. He said he had seen me reading, the after- 
noon before, on the common ; and he began to speak 
about poetry ; and then he asked me if I had read any 

of Mr. s’ without saying he was himself. I was 

sorry to say no, miss, for he was such a kind old gen- 
tleman, but he said he would send me them ; and most 
like they’re waiting for me now at Goring, where I 
gave him an address. Lor’, the questions he asked me I 


170 THA T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCH. 

— about Shakspeare and Burns, you know, miss. I 
had them in my bag; and then about myself. I 
shouldn’t wonder if he wrote a poem about me.” 

“ Well, that’s modest ! ” said Nan, with another quiet 
laugh. 

Sal did not at all like that gentle reproof. 

“ It isn’t my pride, miss ; it’s what he said to me 
that I go by,” she retorted. “ I didn’t ask him.” 

“ If he does, all England will hear about you, then,” 
said Nan. “ And now, what was the other thing?” 

Sal again grew shamefaced a little. She opened the 
inner side of her wallet, took out a soiled, weather- 
beaten copy of the “ Globe” Shakspeare, and from it 
extracted a letter. 

“ Perhaps you would like to read it yourself, miss ? ” 
she suggested. 

Nan took it, and had little difficulty in deciphering 
its contents, though the language was occasionally a 
trifle hyperbolical. It contained nothing less than an 
offer of marriage addressed to Sal by a sailor in one of 
her Majesty’s ironclads, who said he was tired of the 
sea, and that if Sal would give up her wandering life 
so would he, and he would retire to the coast-guard. 
He pointed out the sacrifices he was ready to make for 
her; for it appeared that he was a petty officer. No 
matter ; he was willing to become simple A. B. again ; 
for he had his “ feelin’s ” ; and if so be as she would 
become his wife, then they would have a good weather- 
proof cottage, a bit of garden, and three-and-fourpence 
a day. It was a most business-like, sensible offer. 

“ And I’m sure I could do something for him,” Nan 
eagerly said. “ I think I could get him promotion. The 
Senior Naval Lord of the Admiralty is a friend of 
mine. And wouldn’t it be better for you ? ” 

“ No, miss,” said Sal, with an odd kind of smile. “ I 


A WHITE WORLD. 


171 


was glad to get the letter, for it shows I’m respected. 
But I’m not going to be caged yet. I never saw or 
heard of the man I would marry — except it might have 
been Robbie Burns, if he was still alive. Sometimes 
when I’ve been reading a bit, coming along the downs 
all by myself like, I’ve seen somebody in the distance ; 
and I’ve said to myself, ‘ Well, now, if that was only 
to turn out to be that black-a-vised Ayrshire plough- 
man, it would be all over with me ; it would be 
“ Whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad.” ’ And then 
some shambling fellow of a laborer has come along, 
straw-haired, bent-backed, twisted-kneed, and scarcely 
enough spirit in him to say, ‘ Marnin t’ ye — good-marn- 
in t’ ye, wench ! * M 

“You are very independent,” said the sage Nan. 
“ And that’s all very well as long as your health lasts. 
But you might become ill. You would want relatives 
and friends, and a home. And in the coast-guard 
houses you would have a very comfortable home, and 
a garden to look after ; and your husband might get 
promotion.” 

“ If ever I marry,” said Sal, shaking her head, “ it 
won’t be one of the man-o’-war’s men. They’ve just 
as little spirit or independence as the day-laborers. 
They’ve had it all crushed out of them by the hard 
usage of the officers.” 

“ Oh, how can you say so ! ” said Nan, warmly. 
“ The officers are English gentlemen. In former days 
there may have been cruelty, but I am certain that ex- 
ists no longer. I know several officers kinder-heart- 
ed men don’t exist. Why, there is a captain in the 
navy — ” She stopped in great embarrassment. But 
Singing Sal, not heeding, said, laconically, 

“ It ain’t the captain, miss. He’s too great a gentle- 
man to interfere. It’s the first lieutenant who can 


.172 THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 

make the ship a hell .upon earth if he has a mind to. 
Ah, miss, it’s little you know of the discipline that goes 
on on board a man-o’-war. There’s no human being 
could stand it who wasn’t brought up to it. The mer- 
chantmen can’t stand it and won’t stand it ; that’s 
where the officers find a difficulty when The Reserves 
are called out. You wouldn’t find a man-o’-war’s. man 
marching up to the First Lord of the Admiralty with 
a lump of salt beef in his hand, and asking him if it 
was fit to eat. And this lord, miss, being a civilian- 
like, he never thought of having the man clapped in 
irons : ‘ Throw it overboard,’ says he. ‘ I will see that 
no more o’ that stuff is issued to her Majesty’s fleet.’ 
That was the story I heard, miss ; the men were laugh- 
ing about it at Beachy Head. And then in the mer- 
chantmen Jack has a better chance, if he is a smart 
fellow — ” 

And so forth. They had once more got on to the 
subject of sailors and officers, regarded from their 
different points of view ; and it was not until they had 
reached Brighton that the sight of Lewes Crescent re- 
minded Nan that she had now to part from her com- 
panion and go in search of mutton-bones for the 
thrushes and blackbirds. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

BREAKING DOWN. 

Not only was she successful in this work of charity, 
but she must needs also institute a similar system of 
outdoor relief at her own end of the town ; so that it 
was nearly dusk when she re-entered the house in 


BREAKING DOWN. 


m 


Brunswick Terrace. She did not think of asking if 
there were any visitors ; she went up stairs, perceived 
that the drawing-room door was an inch or two open, 
and was just about to enter, when she heard voices. 
Inadvertently she paused. 

It was Mr. Jacomb’s voice. Then her mother said, 

“ I married happily myself, and I have never tried 
to influence my daughters.” 

Nan shrank bask like a guilty thing. She had only 
listened to discover whether it was some one she knew 
who had called ; but these few words of her mother’s 
made her heart jump. She stole away noiselessly to 
her own room. She sat down, anxious and agitated, 
fearing she scarcely knew what. 

She was not left long in suspense. Her mother 
came into the room and shut the door. 

“ I thought I heard you come in, Nan,” she said, 
“ and it’s lucky you have, for Mr. Jacomb is here.” 

“ But I don’t want to see Mr. Jacomb, mamma,” 
she said, breathlessly. 

“ He wants to see you,” her mother said, quietly, 
“ and I suppose you know what it is about.” 

“ I — I suppose so — yes, I can guess. Oh, mother 
dear ! ” cried Nan, going and clinging to her mother, 
“ do me this great kindness ! I can’t see him. I don’t 
want to see him. Mother, you will go and speak to 
him for me?” 

“ Well, that is extraordinary,” said Lady Beresford, 
who, however, had far too great a respect for her 
nerves to become excited over this matter or anything 
else. “ That’s a strange request. I have just told him 
I would not interfere. Of course I don’t consider it a 
good match ; you might do a great deal better, from a 
worldly point of view. But you have always been pe- 
culiar, Nan. If you think it would be for your happi- 


l 74 THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 

ness to become a poor clergyman’s wife, I will not op- 
pose it. At the same time, I have always thought 
you might do better.” 

“ Oh, mother, don’t you understand?” Nan broke 
in. “ It’s to ask him to go away! I’m so sorry. If 
he had spoken before, I would have told him be- 
fore.” 

“You mean to refuse him, and I am to take the 
message ?” said her mother, staring at her. “ That 
is all ? ” 

The girl was silent. 

“ I must say, Nan, you have been acting very 
strangely. You have led us all to believe that you 
were going to marry him. Why did you let the man 
come about the house ? ” 

“ Don’t speak like that to me, mother,” said Nan, 
with her under lip beginning to quiver. “ I — I tried 
to think of it. I knew he wanted me to be his wife ; 

I thought it might be right ; I thought I could do 
something that way ; and — and I tried to persuade 
myself. But I can’t marry him, mother — I can’t — I 
don’t wish to marry any one — I never will marry.” 

“ Don’t talk nonsense, child! ” said her mother, se- 
verely, for there was a sort of tendency toward ex- 
citement in the atmosphere. “ Let me understand 
clearly. I suppose you know your own mind ? I am 
to go and tell this man definitely that you won’t 
marry him ? ” 

“ Mother, don’t put it in that harsh way. Tell him 
I am very sorry. Tell him I tried hard to think of it. 
Tell him I am sorry he has waited so long ; but if he 
had asked sooner — ” 

“ He would have had the same answer ? ” 

The girl’s face flushed red, .and she said, in a strange 
sort of way. 


BREAKING DO WN 


17 5 

“ Yes — perhaps so ; I think it must have been the 
same answer at any time — oh, I never, never could 
have brought myself to marry him ! Mother, does it 
look cruel — does it look as if I had treated him badly? ” 
she added, in the same anxious way. 

“No, I would not say that,” answered her mother, 
calmly. “ A man must take his chance ; and until he 
speaks he can’t have an answer. I do not think Mr. 
Jacomb has any reason to complain, except, perhaps, 
that you don’t go yourself and hear what he has to 
say.” / 

“ Oh, mother, I couldn't do that. It would only be 
pain for both of us. And then I don’t refuse him, you 
see, mother ; that’s something.” 

Lady Beresford was uncertain. The truth was she 
was not at all sorry to be the bearer of this message — 
even at the cost of a little trouble — for she did think 
that her daughter ought to marry into a better position 
in life. But she had just been listening to what Mr. 
Jacomb had to say for himself ; and he had said a good 
deal, not only about himself, but about Nan, and her 
disposition, and what would best secure her happiness, 
and so forth. Lady Beresford had been just a little 
bit impressed ; and the question was whether Nan 
ought not to be invited to a fair consideration of the 
matter as represented by Mr c Jacomb himself. 

“Well, Nan,” she said, “if your mind is quite clear 
about it — ” 

“ Oh, it is, mother,” she answered, eagerly, “ quite — 
quite.” 

That was an end. Her mother left the room slowly ; 
Nan listened for her footsteps until she heard her go 
into the drawing-room and close the door. Her first 
thought was to lock herself in, so that there should be 
no appeal. Her next was that it was excessively mean 


i 7 6 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH 


and cruel of her to experience this wonderful sense 
of relief, now that the die was irrevocably cast. 

“ If there was anything I could do for him,” she was 
thinking — “ anything — anything but that ; ” and then 
she listened again to the stillness until she heard a bell 
ring, and the drawing-room door open again, and some 
one descend the stairs into the hall. She felt guilty 
and sorry at the same time. She wished she could do 
something by way of compensation. He would not 
think it was mere heartlessness ? For indeed she had 
tried. And would she not have done him a far greater 
wrong if she had married him without being able to 
give him her whole heart ? 

Nan went to the window ; but it was too dark for 
her to see anything. She took it for granted he had 
gone away. She was glad, and ashamed of herself for 
being glad. She reproved herself. And then she had 
a vague sort of feeling that she would wear sackcloth 
and ashes — or try to be ten times kinder to everybody 
— or do something, anything, no matter what — to atone 
for this very unmistakable sense of gladness that 
seemed to pervade her whole being. She couldn't help 
it, because it was there ; but she would do something 
by way of compensation. And the first thing she could 
think of was to go and brush the billiard table with 
such thoroughness that Mr. Tom, when he came home, 
should say he had never seen it in such good condition 
before. 

That was a roaring party that somewhat later came 
in— all flushed feces and high spirits and delight ; for 
they had walked all the way from Falmer over the 
downs, under the guidance of the Canadian experience 
of Frank King ; and they had had wonderful adventures 
with the snow-drifts ; and the night was beautiful — a 
crescent moon in the south, and high up in the south- 


BREAKING DOWN. 


*77 


east the gleaming belt of Orion. And Nan greatly en- 
tered into the joy of these adventurers ; and wished 
to hear more of their futile efforts at skating ; and 
was asking this one and the other about everything — 
until she found Mr. Tom’s eyes fixed on her. 

“ Nan,” said he, with scrutiny and decision, “you’ve 
been in the country to-day, walking.” 

She admitted she had. 

“ And you had for your luncheon a bit of bread and 
an apple.” 

“I generally take that as a precaution,” Nan said, 
simply.” 

“ I thought so,” said Mr. Tom, with great satisfac- 
tion at his own shrewdness. “ I can tell in a minute. 
For you always come back looking highly pleased 
with yourself, and inclined to be cheeky. I don’t like 
the look of you when you’re too set up. Your tongue 
gets too sharp. I’d advise you people to look out.” 

Nan’s conscience smote her. Was she so glad, then, 
that even outsiders saw it in her face ? She became 
graver; and she vowed that she would be most reticent 
at dinner. Had she not promised to herself to try 
to be ten times kinder to everybody ? 

And she very soon, at dinner, had an opportu- 
nity of displaying her generosity. They were busy 
making havoc of the manner of a distinguished person 
who was much talked of at that time, and whom they had 
all chanced to meet. Now Nan ordinarily was very in- 
tolerant of affectation ; but had she not promised to be 
ten times kinder to everybody ? So she struck in in de- 
fence of this lady. 

“ But it is her nature to be affected,” said Nan. 
“She is quite true to herself. That is her disposition. 
It wouldn’t be natural for her to try not to be affected. 
She was born with that disposition. Look at the idi- 


i7* 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


otic grimaces that infants make when they try to show 

they are pleased ; and Mrs. wouldn’t be herself at 

all if she wasn’t affected. She might as well try to 
leave off her affectations as her clothes. She couldn’t 
go about without any.” 

“ She goes about with precious little,” said Mr. Tom, 
who strongly disapproved of scanty ball dresses. And 
then he added, “ But that’s Nan all over ; she’s always “ 
for making the best of everything and everybody. It’s 
always the best possible world with her.” 

“And isn’t that wise,” said Frank King, with a 
laugh, “ considering it’s the only one we’ve got to live 
in at present?” 

Nan was very bright and cheerful during this dinner ; 
and Captain Frank King was most markedly attentive 
to her and interested in her talking. When Nan began 
to speak he seemed to consider that the whole table 
ought to listen ; and his was the first look that ap- 
proved, and the first laugh that followed. Then he 
discovered that she knew all sorts of out-of-the-way 
things that an ordinary young lady could by no possi- 
bility have been expected to know. It was more than 
ever clear to him that these solitary wanderings had 
taught her something. Where had she acquired all 
this familiarity, for example, with details about his 
own profession — or what had been his profession ? 

They went on to talk of the jeers of cabmen at each 
other, and how sharp some of them were. Then again 
they began to talk about other common sayings, the 
very origin of which had been forgotten ; and Frank 
King spoke of a taunt which was an infallible recipe 
for driving a bargee mad— “ Who choked the boy with 
duff? ’’—though nobody, not the bargees themselves, 
now knew anything whatever about the tragic incident 
that must have happened some time and somewhere. 


BREAKING DOWN. 


l;y 


“Yes,” said Nan at once, “ and there is another like 
that, that the collier-boats can’t stand. If you call out 
to a collier, ‘ There s a rat in your chains / he’d drive 
his schooner ashore to get after you.” 

“I suppose you have tried,” said her mother, with 
calm dignity. 

“ I believe Nan spends most of her time,” said the 
Beauty, “ in making mud-pies with the boys in Shore- 
ham Harbor.” 

“ Never you mind, Nan,” her brother said, to encour- 
age her. “Next time we go to Newhaven you’ll 
call out to the colliers, ‘ There s a rat in your chains ,’ 
and I’ll £top behind a wall and watch them beating 

y y 

you. 

All during that dinner Nan was was both amused and 
' amusing, until a trifling little incident occurred. She 
and Frank King, on the other side of the table, had 
almost monopolized the conversation, although quite 
unwittingly ; and everybody seemed to regard this as a 
matter of course. Now it happened that Madge, who 
sat next her betrothed, made some slight remark to 
him. Perhaps he did not hear. At all events, he did 
not answer, but addressed Nan instead, with reference 
to something she had just been saying about life-boats. 
Instantly a hurt expression came over Madge’s face, 
and as instantly Nan saw it. From that moment she 
grew more reserved. She avoided addressing herself 
directly to Captain Frank King. She devoted herself 
chiefly to her mother ; and when, at the end of dinner, 
they adjourned in a body to the billiard-room (with 
the happy indifference of youth), she followed Lady 
Beresford up to the drawing-room and would herself 
make tea for her. 

That night Madge came into Nan’s room. 

“ Do you know, Nan,” she said, quite plainly, “ that 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


1S0 

whenever you are in the room Frank pays no attention 
to any one else ? ” 

“ I thought he was doing his best to amuse every- 
body at dinner,” Nan said, though she did not raise 
her eyes. “ He told some very good stories.” 

“ Yes, to you,” Madge insisted. Then she added, 
“You know I like it. I hope he will always be good 
friends with all the family ; for you see, Nan, it will be 
lonely for me at Kingscourt for a while, and of course 
I should like to have somebody from Brighton always 
in the house. And I know he admires you very much. 
He’s always talking about your character, and your dis- 
position, and your temperament, as if he had been 
studying you like a doctor. I suppose I’ve* got no 
character, or he would talk about that sometimes. I 
don’t understand it — that talking about something in- 
side you, as if it was something separate from yourself ; 
and calling it all kinds, of sentiments and virtues, as if 
it was clock-work you couldn’t see. I don’t see any- 
thing like that in you, Nan — except that you’re very 
kind, you know — but not so different from other people 
as he seems to think.” 

“It doesn’t much matter what he thinks, does it ?” 
suggested Nan, gently. 

“ Oh no, of course not,” Madge said, promptly. 
“ He said I was a very good skater, considering the 
horrid condition of the ice. They have a large lake at 
Kingscourt.” Then, after a pause, “ Nan, where did 
you learn all that about the light-houses and the birds 
at night ?” 

“ Oh, that ? I really don’t know. What about it ? 
— it is of no consequence.” 

“But it interests people.” 

“ It ought not to interest you, or Captain King 


BREAKING DOWN 


i8r 

either. You will have to think of very different things 
at Kingscourt.” 

“ When you and Mr. Jacomb come to Kings — ” 

“ Madge,” said Nan, quickly, “you must not say 
anything like that. I do not mean to marry Mr. 
Jacomb, if that is what you mean/’ 

“No! Honor bright ? ” 

“ I shall not marry Mr. Jacomb ; and I am not 
likely to marry any one,” she said, calmly. “ There 
are other things one can give one’s life to, I suppose. 
It would be strange if there were not.” 

Madge thought for a second or two. 

“Oh, Nan,” she said, cheerfully, “ it would be so nice 
to have ati old maid sister at Kingscourt ! She could 
do such a lot of things, and be so nice and helpful 
without the fuss and pretension of a married woman. 
It would be really delightful to have you at Kings- 
court ! ” 

“ I hope, dear, you will be happy at Kingscourt.” 
said Nan, in a somewhat lower voice. 

“ I shall never be quite happy until you come to stay 
there,” said Madge, with decision. 

“You will have plenty of occupation,” said Nan, 
absently. “ I have been thinking if a war broke out 1 
should like to go as one of the nurses ; and" of course 
that wants training beforehand. There must be an in- 
stitution of some kind, I suppose. Now, good-night, 
dear.” 

“Good-night, Mother Nan. But we are not going to 
let you go away into wars. You are coming to Kings- 
court : I know Frank will insist on it. And it will be 
just the very place for you ; you see you would be in 
nobody’s way ; and you always were so fond of giving- 
help. Oh, Nan ! ” her sister suddenly said, “what is 
the matter? You are crying ! What is it, Nan ? ” 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


182 

Nan rose quickly. 

“ Crying ? N o — no — never mind, Madge— H am tired, 
rather — there — good-night/’ 

She got her sister out of the room only in time. Her 
overstrained calmness had at length given way. She 
threw herself on the bed and burst into a passion of 
weeping ; and thus she lay far into the night, stifling 
her sobs so that no one should hear. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE SHADOW. 

The process of disenchantment is one of the saddest 
and one of the commonest things in life, whether the 
cause of it be the golden youth who, apparently a very 
Bayard before marriage, after marriage gradually re- 
veals himself to be hopelessly selfish, or develops a 
craving for brandy, or becomes merely brutal and ill- 
tempered ; or whether it is the creature of all angelic 
gifts and graces who, after her marriage, destroys the 
romance of domestic life by her slatternly ways, or sinks 
into the condition of a confirmed sigher, or in time 
discovers to her husband that he has married a woman 
comprising in herself, to use the American phrase, nine 
distinct sorts of a born fool. These discoveries are 
common in life ; but they generally follow marriage, 
which gives ample opportunities for study. Before 
marriage man and maid meet but at intervals, and 
then both are alike on their best behavior. The slat- 
tern is no slattern now ; she is always dainty and nice 
and neat ; the golden youth is generous to a fault, and 
noble in all his ways ; and if either or both should be 


THE SHADOW. 


1S3 

somewhat foolish, or even downright stupid, the lack of 
wisdom is concealed by a tender smile or a soft touch 
'of the hand. It is the dream-time of life ; and it is not 
usual for one to awake until it is over. But it was 
different with Frank King. The conditions in which 
he was placed were altogether peculiar. He had made 
two gigantic mistakes — the first, in imagining that any 
two human beings could be alike ; the second, in imagin- 
ingthat, even if they were alike, he could transfer his 
affection from one to the other — and he was now en- 
gaged in a hopeless and terrible struggle to convince 
himself that these were not mistakes. He would not 
see that Madge Beresford was very different from 
Nan. He was determined to find in her all he had 
hoped to find. He argued with himself that she was 
just like Nan, as Nan had been of her age. Madge 
was so kind, and good, and nice : of course it would all 
come right in the end. 

At the same time he never wished to be alone with 
Madge, as is the habit of lovers. Nor if he was sud- 
denly interested in anything did he naturally turn to 
her and call her attention. On the other hand, the 
little social circle did not seem complete when Nan, 
with her grave humor, and her quiet smile, and her 
gentle, kindly ways, was absent. When she came into 
the room then satisfaction and rest were in the very air. 
If there was a brighter gleam on the sea, where a gleam 
of wintry sunshine struck the roughened waters, whose 
eyes but Nan’s could see that properly? It was she 
whom he addressed on all occasions ; perhaps unwit- 
tingly. It seemed so easy to talk to Nan. For the 
rest, he shut his eyes to other considerations. From 
the strange fascination and delight that house in Bruns- 
wick Terrace always had for him, he knew he must be 
in love with somebody there ; and who could that be 


184 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH . 


but Madge Beresford, seeing that he was engaged to 
her ? 

Unhappily for poor Madge, Frank King was now 
called home by the old people at Kingscourt ; and for a 
time, at least, all correspondence between him and his 
betrothed would obviously have to be by letter. Madge 
was in great straits. A look, a smile, a touch of the 
fingers may make up for lack of ideas ; but letter-writ- 
ing peremptorily demands them, of some kind or an- 
other. As usual, Madge came to her elder sister. 

“ Oh, Nan, I do so hate letter-writing ! I promised 
to write every morning. I don’t know what in the 
world to say. It is such a nuisance ! ” 

Nan was silent ; of late she had tried to withdraw as 
much as possible from these confidences of her sister’s, 
but not very successfully. Madge clung to her. Lady 
Beresford would not be bothered. Edith was busy 
with her own affairs. But Nan — old Mother Nan — 
who had nothing to think of but other people, might 
as well begin and play the old maid at once, and give 
counsel in these distressing affairs. ‘ 

“ I wish you would tell me what to say,” continued 
Madge, quite coolly. 

“ I ? Oh, I can not,” said Nan, almost shuddering, 
and turning away. 

“ But you know what interests him, for he’s always 
talking to you,” persisted Madge, good-naturedly. 
“Anybody but me would be jealous; but I’m not. 

The day before yesterday Mrs. went by; and I 

asked him to look at her hair, that every one is raving 
about, and he plainly told me that your hair was the 
prettiest he had ever seen. Now I don’t call that 
polite. He might have said ‘ except yours,’ if only for 
the look of the thing. But I don’t mind — not a bit. 
I’m very glad he likes you, Nan.” 


THE SHADOW. \ 


185 


“ Madge ! Madge ! ” 

It was almost a cry, wrung from the heart. But in 
an instant she had controlled herself again. She turned 
to her sister, and said, with great apparent calmness, 

“ Surely, dear, you ought to know what to write. 
These are things that can not be advised about. Let- 
ters of that kind are secret.” 

“ Oh, I don’t care about that. I think it is stupid,'' 
said Madge, at once. “ There is no use having any 
pretence about it. And I don’t know in the world 
what to write about. Look — I have begun about the 
Kenyons’ invitation, and asked him whether he’d mind 
my going. I like those little dances better than the 
big balls.” 

She held out the letter she had begun; but Nan 
would not even look at it. 

“ It isn’t usual, is it, Madge,” she said, hurriedly. 
“ for a girl who is engaged to go out to a dance by 
herself ? ” 

“ But we are all going! ” 

“ You know what I mean. It is a compliment you 
should pay him not to go.” 

“Well,” said Madge, somewhat defiantly, “I don’t 
know about that. One does as one is done by. And 
I don’t think he’d care if I went and danced the whole 
night through — even with Jack Hanbury.” 

“ Oh, how can you say such a thing ? ” said her sis- 
ter, staring at her ; for this was a new development 
altogether. 

But Madge was not to be put down. 

“ Oh, I am not such a fool ! I can see well enough. 
There isn’t much romance about the whole affair, and 
that’s the short and the long of it. Of course it’s a very 
good arrangement for both of us, I believe ; and that’s 
what they say nowadays — marriages are ‘arranged.’ ” 


1 86 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


“ I don’t know what you mean, Madge ! You never 
spoke like that before.” 

“ Perhaps I was afraid of frightening you ; for you 
have high and mighty notions of things, dear Nan, for 
jill your mouse-like ways. But don’t I see very well 
that he is marrying to please his parents, and to settle 
down, and be the good boy of the family? That’s the 
meaning of the whole thing.” 

“ You don’t mean to say, Madge,” said the elder sis- 
ter, though she hesitated, and seemed to have to force 
herself to ask the question — “ you don’t mean to say 
you think he does not — love you ? ” 

At this Madge flushed up a little, and said, 

“ Oh, well, I suppose he does, in a kind of way, 
though he doesn’t take much trouble about saying it. 
It isn’t of much consequence; we shall have plenty of 
time afterward. Mind, if only Jack Hanbury could 
get invited by the Kenyons, and I were to dance two 
or three times with him, and Frank get to hear of it, I 
suppose there would be a noble rampage : then he 
might speak out a little more.” 

“Have you been dreaming, Madge?” said Nan, 
again staring at her sister. “ What has put such mon- 
strous things into your head ? Mr. Hanbury — at the 
Kenyons’ — and you would dance with him ! ” 

“Well, why not?” said Madge, with a frown ;~for 
this difficulty about the letter-writing had clearly op- 
erated on her temper and made her impatient. “ All 
the world isn’t supposed to know about the Vice-Chan- 
cellor’s warning. Why shouldn’t he be invited by the 
Kenyons ? And why shouid he know that I am going? 
And why, if we both happen to be there, shouldn’t 
we dance together? Human beings are human beings 
in spite of Vice-Chancellors. They can’t lock up a man 


THE SHADOW . 


1S7 

for dancing with you. At all events, they can’t lock 
me up, even if Jack is there.” 

“ Madge, put these things out of your head. You 
won’t go to the Kenyons’, for Captain King would not 
like it—” 

“ I don’t think he’d take the trouble to object,” Madge 
interjected. 

“And Mr. Hanbury won’t be there; and there will 
be no dancing, and no quarrel. If you wish to write 
to Captain King about what will interest him, write 
about what interests yourself. That he is sure to be 
interested in.” 

“ Well, but that is exactly what I can’t write to him 
about. I know what I am interested in well enough. 
Edith has just told me Mr. Roberts has been pressing 
her to fix a time for their marriage. She thinks the 
end of April, so that they could be back in London 
for the latter end of the season. Now I think that 
would do very well for us too ; and it is always nice 
for two sisters to get married on the same day, only 
Frank has never asked me a word about it, and how 
am I to write to him about it? So you see, wise 
Mother Nan, I can’t write to him about what interests 
me.” 

Nan had started somewhat when she heard this pro- 
posal ; it seemed strange to her. 

“ April ? ” she said. “ You’ve known Captain King 
a very short time, Madge. You were not thinking of 
getting married in April next ? ” 

“ Perhaps I’d better wait until I’m asked,” said 
Madge, with a laugh, as she turned to go away. 
“ Well, if you won’t tell me what to write about, I must 
go and get this bothered letter done somehow. I do 
believe the best way will be to write about you ; that 
will interest him, anyway.” 


TH A T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCH. 


iH 

Frank King remained away for a few weeks ; and 
during this time the first symptoms appeared of the 
coming spring. The days began to lengthen ; there 
were crocuses in the gardens ; there were reports of 
primroses and sweet violets in the woods about Hor- 
sham ; in London, Parliament was sitting, and in 
Brighton well-known faces were recognizable among 
the promenaders on the Saturday afternoons. Then 
Mr. Roberts, as Edith’s accepted suitor, received many 
invitations to the house in Brunswick Terrace ; and in 
return was most indefatigable in arranging riding par 
ties, driving parties, walking parties, with in each case 
a good hotel for luncheon as his objective point. 
Madge joined in these diversions with great good-will, 
and made them the excuse for the shortness of the 
letters addressed to Kingscourt. Nan went also ; she 
was glad to get into the country on any pretence ; and 
she seemed merry enough. When Mr. Roberts drove 
along the King’s Road, with these three comely dam- 
sels under his escort, he was a proud man ; and he may 
have comforted himself with the question that as beer 
sometimes led to a baronetcy, why shouldn’t soda- 
water ? 

Strangely enough, Nan had entirely ceased making 
inquiries about sisterhoods and institutions for the 
training of nurses. She seemed quite reconciled to the 
situation of things as they were. She did not cease 
her long absences from the house ; but every one knew 
that on these occasions she was off on one of her soli- 
tary wanderings, and she came home in the evening 
apparently more contented than ever. She had even 
brought herself to speak of Madge’s married life, which 
at first she would not do. 

“You see,” she said to her sister on one occasion, 
“if you and Edith get married on the same day, 1 


THE SHADOW. 189 

must remain and take care of mamma. She must not 
be left quite alone.” 

“Oh, as for that,” said Madge, “Mrs. Arthurs does 
better than the whole of us; and I’m not going to 
have you made a prisoner of. I’m going to have a 
room at Kingscourt called ‘ Nan’s room,’ and it shall 
have no other name as long as I am there. Then we 
shall have a proper house in London by and by ; and 
of course you’ll come up for the season, and see all the 
gayeties. I think we ought to have one of the red 
houses just by Prince’s ; that would be handy for 
everything ; and you might come up, Nan, and help 
me to buy things for it. And you shall have a room 
there, too, you shall ; and you may decorate it and finish 
it just as you like. I know quite well what you would 
like — the room small, the wood-work all bluey-white, 
Venetian embroidery flung about, all the fireplace 
brass, some of those green Persian plates over the man- 
telpiece, about thirteen thousand Chinese fans arranged 
like fireworks on the walls, a fearful quantity of books, 
and a low easy-chair, red candles, and in the middle of 
the whole thing a nasty, dirty, little beggar girl to feed 
and pet.” 

“ 1 think, Madge,” her sister said, gravely, “ that you 
should not set your heart on a town house at all. Re- 
member, old Mr. King is giving his son Kingscourt at 
a great sacrifice. As I understand it, it will be a long 
time before the family estate is what it has been, and 
you would be very ungrateful if you were extravagant.” 

“ Oh, I don't see that,” said Madge. “ They are 
conferring no favor on me. I don’t see why I should 
economize. I am marrying for fun, not for love.” 

She blurted out this inadvertently — to Nan’s amaze- 
ment and horror — but instantly retracted it, with the 
blood rushing to her temples. 


190 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


“ Of course I don’t mean that, Nan ; how could I 
have been so stupid ! I don’t mean that — exactly. 
What I mean is that it doesn’t seem to me as if it was 
supposed to be a very fearfully romantic match, and all 
that kind of thing. It’s a very good arrangement ; 
but it isn’t I who ought to be expected to make sac- 
rifices.” 

“ But surely your husband’s interests will be yours! ” 
exclaimed Nan. 

“Oh yes, certainly,” her sister said, somewhat in- 
differently. “ No doubt that’s true, in a way. Quite 
true, in a kind of way. Still, there are limits ; and I 
should not like to be buried alive forever in the coun- 
try.” 

Then she sighed. 

“ Poor Jack ! ” she said. 

She went to the window. 

“ When I marry I know at least one who will be 
sorry. I can fancy him walking up and down there, 
looking at the house as he used to do, and, oh ! so grate- 
ful if only you went to the window fora moment. He 
will see it in the papers, I suppose.” 

She turned to her sister, and said, triumphantly, 

“ Well, the Vice-Chancellor was done that time ! ” 

“ What time ? ” 

“Valentine’s morning. You can send flowers with- 
out any kind of writing to be traced. Do you think I 
don’t know who sent me the flowers?” 

“ At all events, you should not be proud of it. You 
should be sorry. It is a very great pity.” 

“Yes, that’s what I think,” said Madge. u How 
can I help pitying him ? It wouldn’t be natural not to 
pity him, Vice-Chancellor or no Vice-Chancellor. I 
hate that man ! ” 

“ I say it is a great pity that Mr. Hanbury does not 


THE SHADOW. 


191 

accept his dismissal as inevitable ; and as for you, 
Madge, you ought not even to think of him. Captain 
King sent you that beautiful card-case on Valentine’s 
morning; that is what you should remember.” 

“ Captain King could send me a white elephant if he 
chose,” said Madge, spitefully. “There’s no danger 
to him in anything he does. It’s different with poor 
Jack.” 

“ Madge,” said her sister, seriously, “do you know 
that you are talking as if you looked forward to this 
marriage with regret? ” 

“ Oh no, I don’t — I’m not such a fool,” said Madge, 
plainly. “ I know it’s stupid to think about Jack Han- 
bury ; but still, one has got a little feeling.” 

Then she laughed. 

“ I will tell you another secret, Nan. If he daren’t 
write to me, he can send me things. He sent me a 
book — a novel — and I know he meant me to think the 
hero himself. For he was disappointed in love, too, 
and wrote beautifully about his sufferings ; and at last 
the poor fellow blew his brains out.” 

“ Well, Mr. Hanbury couldn’t do that, at all events 
— for reasons,” Nan said. 

“ Now that is a very bad joke,” said Madge, in a 
sudden outburst of temper, “an old, stupid, bad joke, 
that has been made a hundred times. I’m ashamed of 
you, Nan. They say you have a great sense of humor ; 
that’s when you say things they can’t understand ; 
and they pretend to have a great sense of humor too. 
But where’s the humor in that ? ” 

“ But, Madge dear,” said Nan, gently, “ I didn’t 
mean to say anything against Mr. Hanbury.” 

“ In any case, there is one in this house who does 
not despise Mr. Hanbury for being poor,” said Madge, 
hotly, “ It isn’t his fault that his papa and mamma 


THA T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCH. 


r <)2 

haven’t given him money and sent him out into the 
world to buy a wife ! ” 

And therewith she quickly went to the door and 
opened it, and went out and shut it again with some- 
thing very closely resembling a slam. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

DANGER AHEAD. 

Nan waited the return of Frank King with the 
deepest anxiety. She would see nothing in these wild 
words of Madge’s but an ebullition of temper. She 
could not bring herself to believe that her own sister 
— a girl with everything around her she could desire 
in the world — would deliberately enter upon one of 
those hateful marriages of convenience. It was true, 
Nan had to confess to herself, that Madge was not 
very impressionable. There was no great depth in her 
nature. Then she was a trifle vain, and liked admira- 
tion ; and she was evidently pleased to have a hand, 
some and certainly eligible suitor. But no, it was im- 
possible that she had really meant what she said. 

When Captain King came back, then the true state 
of affairs would be seen. Madge was not going to 
marry for money or position — or even out of spite. 

And when Frank King did come back matters looked 
very well at first. Madge received him in a very nice, 
friendly fashion, and was pleased by certain messages 
from the old folks at Kingscourt. Nan’s fears began 
to fade away. Nothing more was heard of Jack Han- 
bury. So far as Madge was concerned everything 
seemed right. 


DANGER AHEAD. 


193 


But Nan, who was very anxious, and on that ac- 
count unusually sensitive, seemed to detect something 
strange in Frank King’s manner. He had nothing of 
the gay audacity of an accepted suitor. When he 
paid Madge any little attention it appeared almost an 
effort. He was preoccupied and thoughtful ; some- 
times, after regarding Madge in silence, he would ap- 
parently wake up to the consciousness that he ought 
to be more attentive to her ; but there did not seem 
to be much joyousness in their relationship. When 
these two happened to be together — during the morn- 
ing stroll down the Pier, or on the way home from 
church, or seated at a concert — they did not seem to have 
many things to speak about. Frank 'King grew more 
and more grave ; and Nan saw it, and wondered, and 
quite failed to guess at the reason. 

The fact was that he had now discovered what a 
terrible mistake he had made. He could blind him- 
self no longer. Madge was not Nan, nor anything ap- 
proaching to Nan ; they were as different as day and 
night. Face to face with this discovery, he asked 
himself what he ought to do. Clearly, if he had made 
a mistake, it was his first duty that no one else should 
suffer by it. Because he was disappointed in not find- 
ing in Madge certain qualities and characteristics he 
had expected to find, he was not going to withdraw 
from an engagement he had voluntarily entered into. 
It was not Madge’s fault. If the prospect of this mar- 
riage pleased her, he was bound to fulfil his promise. 
After all, Madge had her own qualities. Might they 
not wear as well through the rough work of the world, 
even if they had not for him the fascination he had 
hoped for? In any case, the disappointment should 
be his, not hers. She should not suffer any slight. 
And then he would make another desperate resolve to 

13 


*94 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


be very affectionate and attentive to her ; resolves 
which usually ended in his carrying to her some 
little present of flowers, or something like that, having 
presented which, he would turn and talk to Nan. 

“ I say, Beresford,” he suddenly observed, one night 
at dinner, “ I have an invitation to go salmon-fishing 
in Ireland. Will you come?" 

“Well, but — ’’Madge interposed, with an injured 
air, as if she ought to have been consulted first. 

“ I should like it tremendously,’’ said Mr. Tom, with 
a rush. 

“ I am told the scenery in the neighborhood is very 
fine,” continued Captain King ; “ at all events, we are 
sure to think so half a dozen years hence. That is one 
of the grand points about one’s memory : you forget 
all the trivial details and discomforts, and only re- 
member the best.” 

He quite naturally turned to Nan. 

“ I am sure, Miss Nan,” he said, “you have quite a 
series of beautiful little pictures in your mind about that 
Spliigen excursion. Don’t you remember the drive 
along the Via Mala, in the shut-up carriage — the dark- 
ness outside — and the swish of the rain ? ” 

“ Well,” said Madge, somewhat spitefully, “ consider- 
ing you were in a closed carriage and driving through 
darkness, I don’t see much of a beautiful picture to 
remember.” 

He did not seem to heed. It was Nan he was ad- 
dressing; and there was a pleased light in her eyes. 
Reminiscences are to some people very delightful 
things. 

“ And you recollect the crowded saloon in the Splii- 
gen inn, and the snug little corner we got near the 
stove, and the little table ? That’s where you discov- 
ered the use of stupid people at dinner parties.” 


DANGER AHEAD. 


*95 


“-What’s that? ” Mr. Tom demanded to know. 

“ it s a secret,” Captain King answered, with a laugh. 
“And I think you were rather down-hearted next 
morning — until we began ta get up through the clouds. 
That is a picture to remember, at all events — a Christ- 
mas picture in summer-time. Do you remember how 
green the pines looked above the snow ? And 
how blue the sky was when the mist got driven over ? 
And how business-like you looked in your Ulster — 
buttoned up to the chin for resolute Alpine work. I 
fancy I can hear now the very chirp of your boots on 
the wet snow — it was very silent away up there.” 

“ I know,” said Nan, somewhat shamefacedly, “that 
when I saw * Ristoratore ’ stuck up on the house near 
the top, I thought it was a place for restoring people 
found in the snow, until I heard the driver call out, 
‘ Du, hole Schnapps .’ ” 

“ Wasn’t that a wild whirl down the other side?” 
he continued, delightedly. “ But you should have come 
into the custom-house with me when I went to 
declare my cigars. You see, it wouldn’t do for me, 
who might one day get a coast-guard appointment, to 
try on any smuggling. But I did remonstrate. I 
said I had already paid at Paris and at Basel ; and that 
it was hard to have to pay three import dues on my 
cigars. Well, they were very civil. They said they 
couldn’t help it. ‘ Why not buy your cigars in the 
country where you smoke them ? ’ asked an old gentle- 
man in spectacles. ‘ Because, monsieur,’ I answered 
him, with the usual cheek of the English, 1 1 prefer to 
smoke cigars made of tobacco.’ But he was quite po- 
lite. After charging me eighteen francs, he bowed me 
out, and said ‘ a rivederla ’ ; to which I responded ‘ Oh 
no, thank you ’ ; and then I found you and your sis- 


196 tea t be a utiful wre tch 

tcrs all laughing at me, as if I had been before a police 
magistrate to be admonished.” 

“ You don’t forget all the disagreeable details, then ? ” 
said Nan, with a smile. 

But the smile vanished from her face when he began 
to talk about Bellagio. He did so without any covert 
intention. -It was always a joy to him to think or talk 
about the time that he and the three sisters spent to- 
gether far away there in the South. And it was only 
about the Serenata and the procession of illuminated 
boats that he was thinking at this moment. 

“I suppose they will sooner or later have all our 
ships and steamers lit with the electric light, and every- 
thing will be ghastly white and ghastly black. But do 
you remember how soft and beautiful the masses of 
yellow stars were when the boats came along the lake 
in the darkness ? It was indeed a lovely night. And 
I think we had the best of it — sitting there in the gar- 
den. I know I for one didn’t miss the music a bit. 
And then it was still more lovely when the moon rose ; 
and you could see the water, and the mountains on 
the other side, and even the houses by the shore. I 
rememb&r there was a bush somewhere near us that 
scented all the air.” 

Madge had been regarding her sister closely. 

“ It must have been a magical night,” she said, 
quickly, “for Nan’s face has got quite white just think- 
ing of it.” 

He started. A quick glance at the girl beside him 
showed him that she was indeed pale, her eyes cast 
down, her hand trembling. Instantly he said, in a 
confused hurry: 

“You see, Miss Anne, there was some delay about 
the concert. One steamer did really come back to 
Bellagio. We had our serenade all the same — that is 


DANGER AHEAD. 


ic? 


to say, any who were awake. You see, they did not 
intend to swindle you.” 

“ Oh no ! oh no!” said Nan; and then, conscious 
that Madge was still regarding her, she added, with a 
desperate effort at composure : 

“ We heard some pretty music on the water at Venice. 
Edith picked up some of the airs. She will play them 
to you after dinner.” 

That same night, as usual, Madge came into Nan’s 
room, just before going off. 

“ Nan,” she said, looking straight at her, “what 
was it upset you about Frank’s reminding you of Bella- 
gio ? ” 

“ Bellagio ? ” repeated Nan, with an effort to appear 
unconscious, but with her eyes turned away. 

“ Yes ; you know very well” 

“ I know that I was thinking of something quite 
different from anything that Captain King was say- 
ing.” Nan said at length. “ And — and it is of no con- 
sequence to you, Madge, believe me.” 

Madge regarded her suspiciously for a second, and 
then said, with an air of triumph, 

“At all events, he isn’t going to Ireland.” 

“Oh, indeed ! ” Nan answered, gently. “Well, I’m 
glad ; I suppose you prefer his not going? ” 

“ It nearly came to a quarrel, I know,” said Madge, 
frankly. “ I thought it just a bit too cool. At all 
events, he ought to pretend to care a little for me.” 

“Oh, Madge! how can you say such things? Care 
for you — and he has asked you to be his wife ! Could 
he care for you more than that ? ” 

“ He has never even thanked me for not goingto the 
Kenyons’ ball,” said Madge, who appeared to imagine 
that Nan was responsible for everything Captain King 
did or did not do. 


I 9 s THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 

“ Surely he would take it for granted you would not 
go? ” remonstrated the elder sister. 

“ But he takes everything for granted. And he 
scarcely ever thinks it worth while to speak to me. 
And I know it will be a regular bore when we go to 
Kingscourt, with the old people still there, and me not 
mistress at all ; and what am I to do ? ” 

She spoke rapidly and angrily. 

“ Good-night, Madge,” said Nan; “I am rather 
tired to-night." 

“ Good-night. But I can tell you, if he hadn’t given 
up Ireland, there would have been a row ! ” 

It wa$ altogether a strange condition of affairs, and 
next day it was apparently made worse. There had 
been a stiffish gale blowing all night from the south ; 
and in the morning, though the sky was cloudless, there 
was a heavy sea running, so that from the windows they 
saw white masses of foam springing into the air, hurled 
back by the sea-wall at the end of Medina Terrace. 
When Captain King came along, Mr. Tom at once pro- 
posed they should all of them take a stroll as far as the 
Terrace ; for now the tide was full up, and the foam 
was springing into the blue sky to a most unusual 
height. And, indeed, when they arrived they found a 
pretty big crowd collected ; a good many of whom had 
obviously been caught unawares by the shifting and 
swirling masses of spray. It was a curious sight. First 
the great wave came rolling on with but little beyond 
an ominous hissing noise ; then there was a heavy shock 
that made the earth tremble, and at the same moment 
a roar as of thunder ; then into the clear sky rose a 
huge wall of gray, illuminated by the sunlight, and 
showing clearly and blackly the big stones and smaller 
shingle that had been caught and whirled up in the 
seething mass. Occasionally a plank of drift timber 


DANGER AHEAD. 


i‘09 


was similarly whirled up — some thirty or forty feet — 
disappearing altogether again as it fell crashing into the 
roar of the retreating wave. It was a spectacle, more- 
over, that changed every few seconds, as the heavy 
volumes of the sea hit the breakwater at different an- 
gles. The air was thick with the salt spray, and hot 
with the sunlight — even on this March morning. 

Then it became time for Mr. Tom and Captain 
Frank to go and witness a challenge game of rackets 
that had been much talked of ; and the girls walked 
back with them as far as Brunswick Terrace, Madge 
being with Frank King. 

“Why is it one never sees Mr. Jacomb now?” he 
asked of his companion. 

“ I saw him only the other day,’*' she said, evasively. 

“ But he does not come to the house, does he ? ” 

“ N-no,” said Madge. 

“ Has he left Brighton ? ” 

“ Oh, no,” answered Madge, and she drew his atten- 
tion to a brig that was making up Channel under very 
scant sail indeed. 

“ I dare say he has a good deal of work to do,” said 
Frank King, absently. “ When are they going to be 
married ? ” 

Madge saw that the revelation could be put off no 
longer. 

“ Oh, but they are not going to be married. Nan 
isn’t going to be married at all.” 

He stared at her, as if he had scarcely heard her 
aright ; and then he said, slowly : 

“ Nan isn’t going to be married ? Why have you 
never told me before? ” 

“ Oh, it is a private family matter,” said Madge, pet- 
ulantly : “ it is not to be talked about. Besides, how 
could I know it would interest you ? ” 


200 


THA T BE A UTIFUL IVRE TCH. 


He remained perfectly silent and thoughtful. They 
walked along. Madge began to think she had been 
too ungracious. 

“ I suppose she tried to bring herself to it, for a 
time/’ she said, more gently. “ She has wonderful 
ideas, Nan has , and I suppose she thought she could 
do a deal of good as a clergyman’s wife. For my 
part, I don’t see what she could do more than she does 
at present. It is just what she’s fit for. Poor people 
don’t resent her going into their houses as they would 
if it was you or I. She manages it somehow. That’s 
how she gets to know all about out-of-the-way sort of 
things : she’s practical ; and people think it strange 
that a young lady like her should know the ways and 
habits of common people ; and that’s why she interests 
them when she talks. There’s nothing wonderful in 
it. Anybody can find out what the profit is on selling 
oranges, if you like to go and talk to the hideous old 
wretch who is smelling of gin. But I don’t say any- 
thing against Nan. It’s her way. It’s what she was 
intended for by Providence, I do believe. But she 
was sold that time she wanted to get up a little com- 
mittee to send a constant supply of books and maga- 
zines to the light-houses — circulating, you know. She 
wrote to Sir George about it, and found the Admiralty 
did that already.” 

There was a strange, hopeless, tired look on this 
man’s face. He did not seem to hear her. He ap- 
peared to know nothing of what was going on around 
him. 

When they reached the door of the house he said, 

“ Good-by ! ” 

“ Good-by? ” she repeated, inquiringly. “ I thought 
we were all going to see the Exhibition of Paintings 
this afternoon ? ” 


DANGER AHEAD. 


201 


“ I thiak I must go up to London for a few days,” 
he said, with some hesitation. “ There — is some busi- 
ness — ” 

She said no more, but turned and went in-doors 
without a word. He bade good-by to Edith and to 
Nan— not looking into Nan’s face at all. Then he left 
with the brother; and Mr. Tom was silent; for his 
friend King seemed much disturbed about something, 
and he did not wish to worry him. 

As for Madge, she chose to work herself into a pretty 
passion, though she said nothing. That she should 
have been boasting of her triumph in inducing or forc- 
ing him to give up that visit to Ireland only to find 
him going off to London without warning or explana- 
tion was altogether insufferable. She was gloomy and 
morose all the afternoon ; would not go to see the 
pictures ; refused to come in and speak to certain callers ; 
and at dinner made a little show of sarcasm that did 
not hurt anybody very much. 

The evening brought her a letter. Thus it ran : 

“ Dear Madge, — I thought you looked angry when 
you went in-doors this morning. Don’t quarrel about 
such a trifle as my going to London. I shall be back 
in two or three days; and hope to bring with me the. 
big photograph of Kingscourt, if they have got any 
copies printed yet. 

“Your Frank.” 

“From whom is your letter, Madge?” Lady Beres- 
ford said, incidentally. 

“ From Frank, mamma,” said the young lady, as she 
quietly and determinedly walked across the room and 
— thrust it into the fire ! 

That same night Miss Madge also wrote a note but 


202 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


the odd thing was that the writing of both note and 
address was in a disguised hand. And when, some 
little time thereafter, the others were in the billiard- 
room, it was Madge herself who slipped out from the 
house and went and dropped that missive into the 
nearest pillar letter-box. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

A CATASTROPHE. 

HOWEVER, Madge’s ill temper was never of long 
duration ; and at this particular time, instead of sink- 
ing further into sulks over the absence of her lover, 
she grew day by day more joyous and generous and 
affectionate. The change was most marked ; and Nan, 
who was her sister’s chief confidante, could not make 
it out at all. Her gayety became almost hysterical, 
and her kindness to everybody in the house ran to ex- 
travagance. She bought trinkets for the servants. 
She presented Mr. Tom with a boot-jack mounted in 
silver ; and he was pleased to say that it was the first 
sensible present he had ever known a girl to make. 
But it was toward Nan that she was most particularly 
affectionate and caressing. 

“You know I’m not clever, Nan,” she said, in a 
burst of confidence, “ and I haven’t got clock-works in 
my brain, and I dare say I’m not interesting — to every- 
body. But I know girls who are stupider than I am 
who are made plenty of. And, of course, if you don’t 
have any romance, when you’re young, when are you 
likely to get it after?” 


A CA TASTROPHE. 


203 


“ But I don’t know what you mean, Madge,” Nan 
exclaimed. 

Nor did Madge explain at the moment. She con- 
tinued : 

“I believe it was you, Nan, who told me of the 
young lady who remarked, ‘ What’s the use of tempta- 
tion if you don’t yield to it ? ’ ” 

“That was only a joke,” said Nan, with her demure 
smile. 

“ Oh, I think there’s sense in it,” said the practical 
Madge. “ It doesn’t do to be too wise when you’re 
young.” 

“ It so seldom happens, Madge,” said her sister. 

“ There you are again, old Mother Hubbard, with 
your preaching. But I’m not going to quarrel with 
you this time. I want your advice. I want you to 
tell me what little thing I should buy for Frank, just 
to be friends all round, don’t you know.” 

“Friends? Yes, I hope so!” said Nan, with a 
grave smile. “But how can I tell you, Madge? I 
don’t know, as you ought to know, what Captain King 
has :n the way of cigar cases or such things.” 

“ But call him Frank, Nan ! Do, to please me. And 
I know he would like it.” 

“Some time I may,” said Nan, evasively. “After- 
ware, perhaps.” 

“ When you come to Kingscourt,” said Madge, with 
a curious kind of laugh. 

Nan was silent and turned away ; she never seemed 
to wish to speak of Kingscourt or her going there. 

Frank King’s stay in London was prolonged for 
some reason or other ; at length he announced his in- 
tention of returning to Brighton on a particular Thurs- 
day. On the Tuesday night Nan and Madge arranged 


2C4 THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 

that they would get fresh flowers the next day for the 
decoration of the rooms. 

“And this is what I will do for you, Madge, as. it is 
a special occasion/' remarked Miss Anne, with grave 
patronage. “ If you will get up early to-morrow, I 
will take you to a place, not more than four miles off, 
where you will find any quantity of hart's-tongue fern, 
It is a deep ditch, I suppose a quarter of a mile long, 
and the banks are covered. Of course I don’t want 
any one to know, for it is so near Brighton it would be 
harried for the shops ; but I will show you the place, 
as you will soon be going away now, and we can take 
a basket." 

“ But how did you find it out, Nan ? " 

“ Some one showed it to me.” 

“ The singing-woman, I suppose ? ” 

“ Yes. Think of that ! I believe she could get two- 
pence a root, and she might fill a cart there. But she 
won’t touch one.” 

“No,” said Edith, with a superior smile. “She 
leaves that for young ladies who could very well afford 
to go to a florist’s.”'' 

“ What I shall take won’t hurt,” said Nan, meekly. 

So, next morning, Nan got up about eight, dressed, 
and was ready to start. That is to say, she never ar- 
ranged her programme for the day with the slightest 
respect to meals. So long as she could get an xpple 
and a piece of bread to put in her pocket, she felt pro- 
vided against everything. However, she thought she 
would go along to Madge’s room, and see if that young 
lady had ideas about breakfast. 

Madge’s room was empty; and Nan thouglit it 
strange she should have gone down stairs without 
knocking at her door in passing. But when Nan iso 
tvent below she found that Madge had left the house 


A CA TA S TROPHE. 


205 


before any one was up. She could not understand it 
at all. 

Mr. Tom came down. “ Oh,” said he, indifferently, 
“ she wants to be mighty clever and find out those 
ferns for herself.” 

“ But I did not tell her where they were. I only 

said they were on the road to ,” said Nan, naming 

the place. The writer has reasons of his own for not 
being more explicit. 

“ All the cleverer if she can find out. The cheek of 
the young party is pyramidal,” said Mr. Tom as he 
rang for breakfast. 

But at lunch,, also, Madge had not turned up. 

“ It is very extraordinary,” said Lady Beresford, 
though she was too languid to be deeply concerned. 

“Oh no, it isn’t, mother,” said Mr. Tom. “ It’s all 
Nan’s fault. Nan has infected her. The Baby, you’ll 
see, has taken to tramping about the country with 
gypsies, and prowling about farmers’ kitchens, and 
catching leverets, and stuff. We lives on the simple 
fruits of the earth, my dears ; we eats of the root, and 
we drinks of the spring ; but that doesn’t prevent us 
having a whacking appetite somewhere about 7.45. 
Edith, my love, pass me the cayenne pepper.’ 

“ Boys shouldn’t use cayenne pepper,” said Nan. 

“And babies should speak only when they’re spoken 
to,” he observed. “ Mother dear, I have arrived at 
the opinion that Madge has run away with young 
Hanbury. I am certain of it. The young gentleman 
is fool enough for anything.” 

“You always were spiteful against Mr. Hanbury,” 
said Edith, “ because his feet are smaller than yours.” 

“ My love,” retorted Mr. Tom, with imperturbable 
good-nature, “ his feet may be small. It is in his stu- 
pidity that he is really great. Jack Hanbury can only 


20 6 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


be described in the words of the American poet : he is 
a commodious ass.” 

Now this conjecture of Mr. Tom’s about the cause 
of Madge’s disappearance was only a piece of gay fa- 
cetiousness. It never did really occur to him that any 
one — that any creature with a head capable of being 
broken — would have the wild audacity to run away 
with one of his sisters while he, Mr. Tom Beresford, 
was to the fore. But that afternoon post brought Nan 
a letter. She was amazed to see by the handwriting 
that it was from Madge ; she was still more alarmed 
when she read these words, scrawled with a trembling 
hand, and in pencil : 

“ Dearest dearest Nan, don’t be angry. By the time 
you get this, Jack and I will be married. It is all for 
the best, dear Nan ; and you will pacify them ; and it 
is no use following us; for we shall be in France, until 
it is all smoothed down. Not a single bridesmaid — 
we daren’t — but what wouldn’t I do for Jack’s sake. 
It is time I did something to make up for all he has 
suffered- — he was looking so ill — in another month he 
would have died. He worships me. You never saw 
anything like it. Jack has just come back; so good- 
by ; from your loving, loving sister, MARGARET Han- 
BURY. — Do you know who that is, Nan? ” 

Nan, not a little frightened, took the letter to her 
brother, and gave it him without a word. But Mr. 
Tom’s rage was at once prompt and voluble. That 
she should have disgraced the family — for, of course, 
the whole thing would be in the papers ! That she 
should have cheated and jilted his most particular 
friend ! But as for this fellow Hanbury — 

“ I said it, all along. I told you what would come 


A CATASTROPHE. 


207 


of it. I knew that fellow was haunting her like a 
shadow. Well, we’ll see how a shadow likes being 
locked up on bread and water. Oh, it’s no use your 
protesting, Nan; I will let the law take its course. 

^We’ll see how he likes that. ‘ Stone walls do not a 
prison make ’ — that’s what love-sick fellows say, don’t 
they? Wait a bit. Mr. Jack Hanburv will find that 
stone walls make a very good imitation of a prison, at 
all events.” 

“ But, Tom — dear Tom,” Nan pleaded, “ it is no use 
making matters worse. Let us try to make them bet. 
ter. If Madge is married, it can’t be helped now. 
We must make the best of it.” 

He paid no attention to her ; he was still staring at 
the ill-written letter. 

“ That’s all gammon about their going to France, 
He hasn’t money for travelling. She spent all hers in 
knick-knacks — to propitiate people, the sneak ! They’re 
in London.” 

He looked at his watch. 

“ I can just catch the 5.45 express. Nan, you go 
and tell the others ; they needn’t squawk about it all 
over Brighton.” 

“ What are you going to do, Tom ?” said his sister, 
breathlessly. 

“ Find out where they are first. Then Colonel Fitz- 
gerald and Mr. Mason must take it up. Then Mr. 
Jack Hanbury will suddenly find himself inside Mill- 
bank prison.” 

She caught him by the hand. 

“Tom, is it wise?” she pleaded again. “ They are 
married. What is the use of revenge? You don’t 
want to make your own sister miserable ? ” 

“She has brought it on herself,” he said, roughly. 

“ Then that is what I am to think of you,” she said, 


20 8 


THA T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCH. 


regarding him, “ that some day I may hear you talk 
in that way about me ? ” 

He never could resist the appeal of Nan’s clear, 
faithful eyes. 

“ You wouldn’t be such a fool,” he said. “ And they 
won’t touch Madge. It’s only that fellow they’ll go 
for — the mean hound, to marry a girl for her mon- 
ey ! ” 

“ How do you know it was for her money, Tom? ” 
Nan pleaded. “ I am certain they were fond of each 
other.” 

“ I don’t want to miss my train,” said he. “ You go 
and tell the maternal I’m off to London. I suppose 
you don’t know the address of Hanbury’s father ? ” 

“ No, I don’t.” 

“ Well, I’m off. Ta, ta ! ” 

So the irate Mr. Tom departed. But in the com- 
parative silence of the Pullman car the fury of his rage 
began to abate ; and it dawned upon him that, after 
all, Nan’s counsel might have something in it. No 
doubt these two young fools, as he mentally termed 
them, were married by this time. He still clung to 
the idea that Jack Hanbury deserved punishment — a 
horsewhipping or something of the kind ; but Madge 
was Madge. She was silly ; and she had “ got into a 
hole;” still, she was Madge. She might be let off 
with a serious lecture on her folly, and on her disre- 
gard of what she owed to the other members of the 
family. Only, the first thing was to find out their 
whereabouts. 

On arriving in London he drove to his club, and 
after some little searching discovered that Mr. Gregory 
Hanbury’s address was Adelphi Terrace, whither he 
at once repaired. Mr. Hanbury was at dinner. He 
sent up his card nevertheless, and asked to be allowed 


A CATASTROPHE. 


209 


to see Mr. Hanbury on particular business. The an- 
swer was a request to step up stairs into the dining- 
room. 

He found that occupied by two gentlemen who were 
dining together at the upper end of a large table. 
One came forward v to meet him. He took it for 
granted this was Mr. Hanbury — a slight, short man, 
with black hair and eyes, and a very stiff white cravat. 

“ Mr. Beresford,” said he, “ I can guess what has 
brought you here. Let me introduce you to my 
brother — Major Hanbury. It is an unfortunate busi- 
ness.” 

The other gentleman — also slight and short, but with 
a sun-browned, dried-up face, and big gray mustache — 
bowed-and resumed his seat. 

“You know, then, that your son has run away with 
my sister,” said Mr. Tom, somewhat hotly, though he 
had determined to keep his temper. “ Perhaps you 
know also where they are ? ” 

“ No further,” said the black-haired gentleman, with 
perfect calmness, “ than that I believe them to be in 
London. It is only about a couple of hours since I 
heard of the whole affair. I immediately sent for my 
brother. It is a most distressing business altogether. 
Of course you are chiefly concerned for your sister ; 
but my son is in a far more serious position.” 

“ Yes, I should think so ! ” exclaimed Mr. Tom. “ I 
should think he was ! But you don’t know where they 
are ? ” 

“ No ; I only know they are in London. I received 
a letter from my son this afternoon, asking me to inter- 
cede for him with the Court of Chancery ; and it is 
from this letter that I learn how serious his position is 
—more serious than he seems to imagine, He appears 


210 


THA T BE A UTIFUL WRE TCH , i 


to think that, now the marriage has taken place, the 
Vice-Chancellor will condone everything.” 

“ He won’t : I will take good care that he sha’n’t !” 
Mr. Tom said. 

“ My dear sir, I am sorry to say that my son is in a 
very awkward situation, even although no personal vin- 
dictiveness be shown toward him. Your sister is not 
of age, I believe ? ” 

“Of course not. She’s just turned eighteen.” 

“Ah. Then you see, Jack had to declare that she 
was of age. And he appears to have stated that he 
had resided three weeks in the parish, whereas he only 
came up from Brighton yesterday morning. And, 
again, marrying in the direct teeth of an order of the 
Court — I am afraid, sir, that he is in a bad enough pre- 
dicament without any personal vengeance being shown 
him.” 

This seemed to strike Mr. Tom. 

“ I don’t hit a man when he’s down. I will let the 
law take its course. I sha’n’t interfere.” 

“ Don’t you think, sir,” said this man with the calm 
black eyes and the quiet manner, “ that it might be 
wiser, in the interests of your sister, if you were to help 
us to arrange some amicable settlement which we 
could put before the Court? I believe the guardians 
of the young lady were very much misinformed about 
my son’s character and his intentions with regard to 
her. I am certain that it was not her fortune that at- 
tracted him, or that could have led him into the peril- 
ous position he now occupies. • Now, if we could go 
before the Vice-Chancellor and say : ‘ The marriage is 
not so unsuitable after all. The young man comes of 
a highly respectable family. His relations (that is, my 
brother and myself, sir) are willing to place a substan- 
tial sum at his disposal for investment in a sound bus- 


A CATASTROPHE. 


211 


iness — indeed, there is a brewery at Southampton that 
my brother has just been speaking of — ” 

“A brewery!” exclaimed Mr. Tom; but he in- 
stantly recollected that beer was as good as soda-water, 
from a social point of view. 

“ And if we could say to the Vice-Chancellor that 
the friends of the young lady were willing to condone 
his offence — always providing, of course, and naturally, 
that your sister’s fortune should be strictly settled 
upon herself — then, perhaps, he might be let off with 
a humble apology to the Court, and the young people 
be left to their own happiness. My dear sir, we law- 
yers see so much of the inevitable hardship of human 
life that when a chance occurs of friendly compro- 
mise — ” 

“ That’s all very well,” blurted out Mr. Tom. “ But 
I call it very mean and shabby of him to inveigle my 
sister away like that. She was engaged to be married 
to an old friend of mine ; a much better fellow, I’ll be 
bound ! I call it very shabby.” 

“ My dear sir,” said the lawyer, placidly, “ I do not 
seek for a moment to excuse my son’s conduct, except 
to remind you that at a certain period of life romance 
counts for something. I believe many young ladies are 
like the young lady in the play — I really forget what 
her name was — who was disappointed to find that she 
was- not to be run away with. However, that is a dif- 
ferent matter. I put it to you whether it would not 
be better for every one concerned, if we were to try to 
arrive at an amicable arrangement, and give the young 
people a fair start in life.” 

“ Of course I can’t answer for all our side,” said Mr. 
Tom, promptly. “ You’d better come with me to-mor- 
row, and we’ll talk it over with Colonel Fitzgerald and 
Mr. Mason. I don’t bear malice. I think what you 


212 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


say is fair and right — if the settlement is strict. And 
if it came to be a question of interceding, there’s an 
old friend of ours, Sir George Stratherne, who, I know, 
knows the Vice-Chancellor very intimately — ” 

“ My dear sir ! ” the lawyer protested, with either 
real or affected horror ; “ do not breathe such a thing! 
do not think of such a thing ! The duty of the Vice- 
Chancellor to his wards is of the extremest kind ; his 
decisions are beyond suspicion ; what we have got to 
say we must say in open court.” 

“ But if they were to lock your son up in prison,” 
said Mr. Tom, with a gentle smile, “ that couldn’t pre- 
vent Sir George taking my sister to call on the Vice- 
Chancellor some afternoon at his own house. And 
Madge is rather pretty. And she might cry.” 

“Will you take a glass of wine, Mr. Beresford ? ” 
said the lawyer, effusively ; for he saw that he had 
quite won over Mr. Tom to his side. 

“No, thank you,” said the latter, rising ; “I must 
apologize for interrupting your dinner. I’ll look up 
Colonel Fitzgerald and Mason to-morrow morning, and 
bring them along here, most likely ; that will be the 
simplest way. I suppose you are likely to know 
sooner than any one where these two fugitives have 
got to?” 

“ I think so. I have sent an advertisement to the 
morning papers. I shall certainly counsel my son to 
surrender at once, and throw himself on the mercy of 
the Court. My dear sir, I am much obliged to you 
for your kindness, your very great kindness, in calling.” 

“Oh, don’t mention it,” said Mr. Tom, going to the 
door. And then he added, ruefully, “ Now I’ve got to 
go and hunt up my friend, and tell him that my own 
sister has jilted him. You’ve no idea what a treat 
that will be ! ” 


AT LAST. 


213 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

AT LAST. 

He found Frank King in the little room in Cleve- 
land Row, alone, sitting before the fire, a closed book 
on the small table beside him. 

“ I’ve got bad news for you, King,” he said bluntly. 
“ I wish it hadn’t been my sister. But you know what 
women are. It’s better to have nothing at all to do 
with them.” 

“But what is it?” Frank King said, with some 
alarm on his face. 

“ Madge has bolted.” 

“ Madge has bolted ? ” the other repeated, staring at 
Mr. Tom in a bewildered sort of way. 

“ Yes ; gone and married that fellow Hanbury. This 
morning. I’m very sorry I have to come to you with 
a story like that about my own sister.” 

Mr. Tom was very much surprised to find his friend 
jump up from the chair and seize him by the arm. 

“ Do you know this, Beresford,” he said, in great 
excitement, “ you have taken a millstone from my 
neck? I have been sitting wondering whether I 
shouldn’t cut my throat at once, or make off for Aus- 
tralia.” % 

“Oh, come, I say!” interposed Mr. Tom, with a 
quick flush. 

“ Oh, you needn’t think I have anything to say 
against your sister,” exclaimed his friend, on whose 
face there was a sudden and quite radiant gladness. 
“You don’t understand it at all, Beresford. It will 
take some explanation. But I assure you you could 


214 THA t be a utiful wre tch. 

not have brought me pleasanter news ; and yet I have 
not a word to say against your sister. I know that is 
a privilege you reserve for yourself ; and quite right 
too.” 

It was manifestly clear that Captain King was not 
shamming satisfaction ; not for many a day had his 
face looked so bright.” 

“Well, I’m glad you take it that way,” said Mr. 
Tom. “ I thought you would be cut up. Most fellows 
are, though they pretend not to be. I really do be- 
lieve you’re rather glad that Madge has given you the 
slip.” 

“ Sit down, Beresford, and I will tell you all about it. 
I proposed to your sister Anne years ago.” 

“To Nan? Why wasn’t I told ? ” 

“ These things are not generally preached from the 
house-tops. She refused me point-blank, and I knew 
she was a girl who knew her own mind. Then I re- 
joined my ship, and remained mostly abroad for a long 
time. I fancied it would all blow over, but it didn’t. 
I was harder hit than I thought ; and then, you know, 
sailors are driven to think of by-gone things. Well, 
you remember when I came home — when I met you in 
the street. I thought I should like to have just an- 
other glimpse of Nan — of Miss Anne, I mean — before 
she married the parson. Do you remember my going 
into the drawing-room? Madge was there — the per- 
fect image of Nan ! Indeed, I thought at first she was 
Nan herself. And wasn’t it natural I should imagine 
the two sisters alike in disposition too ? And then, as 
it was hopeless about Nan, I fancied — I imagined — 
Well, the truth is, I made a most confounded mistake, 
Beresford ; and the only thing I have been thinking of, 
day and night, of late, was what was the proper and 
manly thing to do, whether to tell Madge frankly, or 


AT LAST. 


215 


whether to say nothing, with the hope that after mar- 
riage it would all come right. And now you needn’t 
wonder at my being precious glad she has herself set- 
tled the affair ; and there is not a human being in the 
world more heartily wishes her life-long happiness than 
I do. And I wish to goodness I knew some way of 
letting her know that, too.” 

Tom stretched out his legs — his hands were in his 
pockets — and said, contemplatively, 

“ So you thought Madge was the same as Nan? I 
could have told you different if you had asked me. 
You thought you could find another girl like Nan. -If 
you want to try, you’ll have to step out. By the time 
you’ve found her, the Wandering Jew ’ll be a fool com- 
pared to you. Girls like Nan don’t grow on every 
blackberry bush.” 

“ I know that,” said Frank King, with a sigh. 

Then Mr. Tom looked at his watch. 

“ I’m very hungry,” said he. “ Have you dined? ” 

“No, I have not. I was going to walk along to the 
club when you came in.” 

“ Come with me to the Waterloo. You see, some- 
thing must be done about these two ninnies. He must 
get something to do and set to work. The Baby has 
never been accustomed to live up a tree ; she must 
have a proper house.” 

Frank King got his coat and hat, and they both went 
out. He was thinking of his own affairs mostly, and 
of this singular sense of relief that seemed to permeate 
him ; Mr. Tom, on the other hand, was discussing the 
various aspects of elopement, more particularly with 
regard to the Court of Chancery. During dinner the 
two friends arrived at the conclusion that people gen- 
erally would look upon the affair as a harmless, or even 
humorous, escapade ; and that the Court, seeing that 


2T6 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


the thing was done, would allow the young people to 
go their way, with a suitable admonition. 

This was not quite what happened, however. To 
begin with, there was a clamor of contention and ad- 
vice among guardians and friends ; there were anon- 
ymous appeals to the runaways in agony-columns; 
there were futile attempts made to pacify the Court 
of Chancery. All the Beresfords came up to town ex- 
cept Nan, who remained to look after the Brighton 
house. The chief difficulty of the moment was to dis- • 
cover the whereabouts of Mr. John Hanbury. That 
gentleman was coy, and wanted to find out something 
of what was likely to happen to him if he emerged 
from his hiding-place. At last it was conveyed to him 
that he was only making matters worse ; then he wrote 
from certain furnished apartments in a house on the 
southwest side of Regent’s Park ; finally, there was a 
series of business interviews, and it was arranged that 
on a particular day he should attend the court and 
hear the decision of the Vice-Chancellor. 

On that fateful morning, poor Madge, her pretty 
eyes all bedimmed with tears, and her lips tremulous, 
was with her sisters and mother in the rooms in Bruton 
Street ; the gentlemen only attended the court. Jack 
Hanbury was looking exceedingly nervous and pale. 
And indeed, when the case came on, and the Vice-Chan- 
cellor began to make certain observations, even Mr. 
Tom, whose care for the future of his sister had now 
quite overcome all his scorn for that fellow Hanbury, 
grew somewhat alarmed. The Court did not all appear 
inclined to take the free-and-easy view of the matter 
that had been anticipated. The Vice-Chancellor’s 
sentences, one' after the other, seemed to become more 
and more severe, as he described the gross conduct 
and contempt of which this young man had been 


A T LAST. 


2i 7 


guilty. He deplored the condition of the law in Eng- 
land, which allowed persons to get married on the 
strength of false statements. He wound up his lect- 
ure, which had a conciseness and pertinence about it 
not often found in lectures, by the brief announce- 
ment that he should forthwith make an order commit- 
ting Mr. John Hanbury to Holloway prison. There was 
an ominous silence for a brief second or so. Then the 
Court was addressed by Mr. Rupert — who was Mary 
Beresford’s husband, and a fairly well-known Q.C. — 
who made a very humble and touching little appeal. 
He said he represented the relatives of the young lady ; 
he was himself a near relative ; and they were all in- 
clined to beg his lordship to take a merciful view of 
the case. They did not think the young man, though 
he had acted most improperly, was inspired by mer- 
cenary motives. He was now in court, and was anxious 
to make the most profound apology. If his Lord- 
ship — 

But at this moment his lordship, by the slightest of 
gestures, seemed to intimate that Mr. Rupert was only 
wasting time; and the end of it was that Mr. Jack 
Hanbury, after having heard a little more lecturing on 
the heinousness of his conduct, found himself under 
the charge of the tipstaff of the court, with Holloway 
prison as a destination. It was not to be considered 
as a humorous escapade, after all. 

“ Madge will have a fit,” said Mr. Tom, when they 
were outside again. “ Some one must go and tell her. 
I sha’n’t.” 

“ I knew he must be committed,” said Mr. Rupert 
to the young man’s father. “ There was no help for 
that ; his contempt of Court was too heinous. Now 
the proper thing to do is to let him have a little dose 
of prison — the authority of the Court must be vindi- 


2l8 


THAT BEAUTIFUL W, RETCH. 


cated, naturally ; and then we must have a definite 
scheme for the establishment of the young man in 
business before we beg the Court to reconsider the 
matter. I mean, you must name a sum, and it must 
be ready. And then there must be an understanding 
that Miss Beresford’s — I mean Mrs. Hanbury’s — small 
fortune shall be settled on herself/' 

“ My advice,” remarked Mr. Tom, “ is that Madge 
should go herself and see the Vice-Chancellor. She 
might do the pathetic business — a wife and not a 
widow, or whatever the poetry of the thing is. I think 
it’s deuced hard lines to lock up a fellow for merely 
humbugging an old parson up in Kentish Town. Why 
shouldn’t people get married when they want to ? 
Fancy having to live there weeks in Kentish Town! 
I wouldn’t live three weeks in Kentish Town to marry 
a duchess.” 

“ I am afraid,” said Mr. Rupert, dryly, “that the 
Vice-Chancellor is too familiar with the sight of pretty 
damsels in distress. I think, Mr. Hanbury, if you can 
produce a deed of partnership with your friends in 
Southampton, that would be more likely to influence 
the Court. On our side we agree. And of course 
there must be a humble apology from the young man 
himself. We had better wait a week, or a fortnight, 
and then renew the application. I will go myself and 
tell the young lady what has happened.” 

Madge did not go into a fit at all ; but what she did 
do was to decline positively to remain in Bruton 
Street. No; back she would go to the rooms that 
her dear Jack had taken for her. They might come 
to see her there if they liked ; but that was her home ; 
it was her place as a wife to remain in the home that 
her husband had chosen for her. Madge did not cry 
as much as had been expected ; she was angry and 


A T LAST. 


219 


indignant, and she said hard things about the condi- 
tion of the law in England ; and she had a vague belief 
that her brother Tom was a renegade and traitor and 
coward because he did not challenge the Vice-Chan- 
cellor to a duel on Calais sands. 

Nevertheless, in her enforced widowhood, Madge 
found time to write the inclosed letter — nay, she went 
first of all to the trouble of walking down Baker Street 
until she came to a shop where she could get very 
pretty and nicely scented note-paper for the purpose: 

“Dear Frank, — Tom brought me yesterday your 
very manly and generous letter, and I must write and 
thank you for your kind wishes for my happiness. It’s 
dreadful to think that persons should be shut up in 
prison, when everybody is agreed it is needless, merely 
to satisfy a form. You are very kind in what you say ; 
you were always kind to me — kinder than 1 deserved. 
But I didn’t think you would mind very much my run- 
ning away, for I am sure you care far more for Nan 
than you ever cared for me ; and now Edith declares 
that Nan has been in love with you all the time. I 
hear you have been doing everything in your power to- 
ward getting poor Jack out of prison ; and so I thought 
I would do you a good turn also. You might take this 
letter to Nan, and ask her if every word in it isn’t true 
— unless you think you’ve had enough of our family al- 
ready. Dear Frank, I am so glad you forgive me ! 
and when I get out of my present deep distress I hope 
you will come and see us, and be like old friends. 

“ Yours sincerely, Madge H anbury.” 

At this present moment Captain King, as they still 
call him (for all these things happened not so long ago), 
considers this letter the most valuable he ever received. 


220 THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH 

Not any message from home announcing to the school- 
boy that a hamper would speedily arrive ; not any com. 
munication from the Admiralty after he had arrived 
at man’s estate ; nay, not any one of Nan’s numerous 
love-letters — witty and tender and clever as these were 
— had for him anything like the gigantic importance of 
this letter. It is needless to say that, very shortly 
after the receipt of it, and without saying a word to 
anybody, he slipped down to Brighton, and got a room 
at the Norfolk. 

It was so strange to think that foan was a little way 
along there ; and that there was still a chance that 
that same Nan — the wonder of the world, with whose 
going away from him the world had got quite altered 
somehow — might still be his. It bewildered him as 
yet. To think of Nan at Kingscourt ! — her presence 
filling the house with sunlight ; charming everybody 
with her quiet, humorous ways, and her self-possession, 
and her sweetness, and the faithfulness of her frank, 
clear eyes. And all his thinking came back to the one 
point. This was now Nan herself he had a chance of 
winning ; not any imaginary Nan ; not any substitute I 
not any vision to be wavering this way and that ; but 
the very Nan herself. And if it was true — if the real 
Nan, after all, was to go hand in hand through life 
with him — where, of all the places in the world, should 
they first go to together? To that far-away inn at 
Spliigen, surely! Now it would be his own Nan who 
would sit at the small table, and laugh with her shining, 
clear eyes. She would walk with him up the steep 
pass, the sunlight on her pink cheeks ; he would hear 
the chirp of her boot on the wet snow. 

Amid all this wild whirl of hope and doubt and de_ 
lightful assurance it was hard to have to wait for an 
opportunity of speaking to Nan alone. He would not 


AT LAST. 


221 


go to the house, lest there should be visitors or some 
•ne staying there ; he would rather catch Nan on one 
of her pilgrimages in the country or along the downs, 
with solitude and silence to aid him in his prayer. But 
that chance seemed far off. He watched for Nan in- 
cessantly, and his sharp sailor’s eyes followed her 
keenly, while he kept at a considerable distance. But 
Nan seemed to be very busy at this time. Again and 
again he was tempted to speak to her as she came out 
of this or that, or when he saw her carrying an armful 
of toys into some small back street. But he was afraid. 
There was so much to win ; so much to lose. He 
guessed that, sooner or later, the vagrant blood in Nan 
would drive her to seek the solitariness of the high 
cliffs over the sea. 

It turned out differently, however. One squally 
and stormy morning he saw her leave the house, her 
Ulster buttoned up, her hat well down over her brows. 
He let her pass the hotel, and slipped out afterward. 
By and by she turned up into the town, and finally 
entered a stationer’s shop, where there was a public 
library. No doubt she had merely come to order 
some books, he said to himself, down-heartedly, and 
would go straight back again. 

However, on coming out he noticed her glance up 
at the driven sky, where the clouds were breaking 
here and there. Then she went down East Street 
toward the sea. Then she passed the Aquarium by 
the lower road. This he could not understand at all, 
as she generally kept to the cliffs. 

He soon discovered her intention. There was a 
heavy sea rolling in ; and she had always a great de- 
light in watching the big waves come swinging by the 
head of the Chain Pier. That, indeed, turned out to 
be her destination. When he had seen the slight, 


222 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


girlish-looking figure well away out there, he also went 
on the Pier and followed. 

It is needless to say that there was not a human be- 
ing out there at the end. Tags and rags of flying 
clouds were sending showers of rain spinning across ; 
between them great bursts of sunlight flooded the 
sea ; and the vast green masses of water shone as they 
broke on the wooden piles and thundered on below. 
When he reached the head of the Pier he found that 
Nan, who fancied herself entirely alone, was resting 
her elbows on the bar, and so holding on her hat, as 
she looked down on the mighty volumes of water that 
broke and rushed roaring below. 

He touched her on the shoulder; she jumped up 
with a start and turned, growing a little pale as she 
confronted him. He, also, had an apprehensive look 
in his eyes ; perhaps it was that that frightened 
her. 

“Nothing has happened to Madge?” she said, 
quickly. 

“ No. But come over there to the shelter. I wish 
to show you a letter she has written.” 

A few steps brought them to a sudden silence ; it 
was like stepping from the outer air into a diving-bell. 

“ Nan, I want you to read this letter, and tell me- if 
it is true.” 

He gave it her ; she read it ; then slowly, very slow- 
ly, the one hand holding the letter dropped, and she 
stood there silent, her eyes downcast. 

“ Nan, I have loved you since the very first night I 
ever saw you. I tried to make believe that Madge 
was you ; Madge herself has saved me from what 
might have happened through that desperate mistake. 
And you, Nan — you are free now — there is no one in 
the way — is it true what Edith says ? ” 


“ BRING HOME THE BRIDE SO FAIRS 223 

“ It isn’t quite true,” said Nan, in a very low voice ; 
and her fingers were making sad work with Madge’s 
letter. “ I mean — if She means — what you can say — 
since the very first night that we met. But I think 
at least— it is true — since ” — and here Nan looked up 
at him with her faithful eyes, and in them there was 
something that was neither laughing nor crying, but 
was strangely near to both — “ since — since ever we 
parted at Como ! ” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

“ BRING HOME THE BRIDE SO FAIR ! ” 

“ POOR Jack ! ” that was all Madge’s cry. She did 
not care what arrangement was being got up by the 
parents and guardians interested. She did not want 
her fortune settled on herself. To her it did not mat- 
ter whether the brewery was in Southampton or in 
Jerusalem. All her piteous appeal was that her dear 
Jack should be got out of prison ; and the opinion that 
she had formed of the gross tyranny and cruelty and 
obstinacy of English law was of a character that dare 
not be set forth here. 

“ What is the use of it?” she would say. “What 
good can it do except to keep people miserable?” 

“My dear child,” the sighing and sorely troubled 
mother would answer, “ the Vice-Chancellor has admit- 
ted what it can do no good. But the authority of the 
Court must be vindicated.” 

“ It is nothing but a mean and contemptible re- 
venge ! ” exclaimed Madge. 

However, Mr. Tom took a much more cool and busi- 
ness-like view of the matter. 


224 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


“When he is let out,” he remarked, “I hope the 
Vice-Chancellor will make the other side pay the costs 
of all these applications and proeeedings. I don't see 
why we should pay, simply because Jack Hanbury 
went and made an ass of himself." 

“ I beg you to remember that you are speaking 
of my husband! " said Madge, with a sudden fierce- 
ness. 

“Oh, well, but didn’t he?" Mr. Tom said. “What 
was the use of bolting like that when he knew he must 
be laid by the heels? Why didn’t he go to his father 
and uncle, to begin with, and get them to make this 
arrangement they have now, and then have gone to 
the Chief Clerk and showed him that there w'as no 
objection anywhere?" 

“ It was because you were all against him,” said poor 
Madge, beginning to cry. “ Everybody — everybody. 
And now he may be shut up there for a whole year — 
or two years." 

“ Oh, but he isn’t so badly off," said Mr. Tom, sooth- 
ingly. “You can see they treat him very well. By 
Jingo! if it was the tread-mill, now — that would exer- 
cise his toes for him ! 1 tried it once in York Castle ; 

and I can tell you when you find this thing pawing at 
you over your head it’s like an elephant having a game 
with you. Never mind, Madge. Don’t cry. Look 
here: I’ll bet you five sovereigns to one that they let 
him out on the next application — that’s for Thursday. 
Are you on ? " 

“ Do you mean it ? ” she said, looking up. 

“ I do." 

It was wonderful how quickly the light came into her 
face. 

“ Then there is a chance ? ’’ she said. “I can’t be- 
lieve the others, for they are only trying to comfort 


“ BRING HOME THE BRIDE SO FAIR." 225 

me. But if you would bet on it, Tom, then there’s 
rdally a chance.” 

“Bet’s off. You should have snapped at it, Madge. 
Nevermind, you’ll have your dear Jack; that’ll do in- 
stead.” ; 

That afternoon Mary Beresford, now Mrs. Rupert, 
called, and Mr. Tom, with much dignity of manner, 
came into the room holding an open letter in his hand. , 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “and friends as- I 
sembled, I have a piece of news for you. Mr. Fran- 
cis Holford King, late Commander in her Majesty’s 
Navy, has just contracted a — what d’ye call it? — kind 
of engagement with Miss Anne Beresford of that 
ilk. It strikes me this is what is termed consolation 
stakes.” 

“ There you are quite wrong,” said Madge, promptly 
and cheerfully. “ He meant to make me the consola- 
tion stakes, for it was Nan that he wanted to marry 
all the way through.” 

“Well, I shall be glad to see you all married,” said 
Tom. “ I’ve had enough bother with you.” 

“ You look quite worn out,” his eldest sister remarked. 

“ At least,” he said, sitting down in an easy-chair 
and stretching out his legs — “at least I have gained 
some wisdom. I see the puzzlement you girls are in, 
who haven’t got to earn your own living. You don’t 
know what on earth to do with yourselves. You read 
Ruskin, and think you should be earnest ; but you 
don’t know what to be earnest about. Then you take 
to improving your mind, and cram your head full of 
earth currents, and equinoxes, and eclipses of the 
moon. But what does it all come to? You can’t do 
anything with it. Even if you could come and tell 
me that a lime-burner in Jupiter has thrown his wig 
into the fire, and so altered the spectrum, what’s that 


226 THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH 

to me ? Then you have a go at philanthropy — that’s 
more practical; Sunday-school teaching, mending chil- 
dren’s clothes, doing for other people what they ought 
to do for themselves, and generally cultivating pauper- 
ism. Then, lo and behold ! in the middle of all this 
there comes by a good-looking young fellow, and, 
phew! all your grand ideas are off like smoke, and it’s 
all ‘ dear Jack ! ’ and 1 dear Alfred ! ' and * I’ll go to the 
ends of the earth with my sodger laddie ! ’ Oh, I know 
what life is. I see you girls begin with all your fine 
ideas, and reading up, and earnestness — ” 

“ I suppose, then, there is no such thing as the for- 
mation of character?” said his eldest sister, calmly. 

“ The formation of character ! ” exclaimed Mr. Tom. 
“ Out of books? Why, the only one among you who 
has any character worth mentioning is Nan. Do you 
think she got it out of books? No, she didn’t. She 
got it — she got it” — here Mr. Tom paused for a sec- 
ond, but only to make a wilder dash — “ out of the sun- 
light ! There’s a grand poetical idea for you ! Nan 
has been more in the open than any of you, and the 
sunlight has filled her brain, and her mind, and her 
disposition altogether.” 

“ I presume that also accounts for the redness of 
her hair?” said Mrs. Rupert. 

Tom rose to his feet. There was an air of resigna- 
tion on his face as he left the room. He said, half to 
himself, 

“ Well, nature was right in making me a man. I 
couldn’t have mustered up half enough spite to make 
a passable woman.” 

Now the end of the Madge and Jack episode was in 
this*wise : On the second application the Vice-Chan- 
cellor flatly refused to release the young man from 
prison. His gross offense had not yet been purged. It 


“ BRING HOME THE BRIDE SO FAIR.” 227 

was quite true, his lordship admitted, that the young 
lady and the guardians and relatives on both sides 
were also sharing in this punishment, and it was unfort- 
unate. Moreover, arrangements had now been made 
which seemed to render the marriage a perfectly eligi- 
ble one, if only it had been properly brought about. 
Nevertheless, the Court could not overlook the young 
man’s conduct ; in prison he was, and in prison he 
must remain. 

More tears on the part of Madge. More advice from 
Mr. Tom that she should go and plead with the Vice- 
Chancellor herself ; he was sure her pretty, weeping 
eyes would soften the flintiest heart. Correspondence 
addressed by Captain Frank King to Admiral Sir 
George Stratherne K.C.B. , containing suggestions not 
in consonance with the lofty integrity of British courts 
of law. 

Then, at last, the Vice-Chancellor relented. Mr. 
Hanbury had given an undertaking to execute any set- 
tlement the Court might think fit with regard to the 
young lady’s property. Then he must pay all costs of 
the proceedings, likewise the guardians’ costs. This 
being so, his lordship was disposed to take a merciful 
view of the case, and would make an order discharging 
the young man from prison. 

“Oh, Jack! ” poor Madge exclaimed, when he was 
restored to her, “ shall I ever forget what you have 
suffered for my sake ? ” 

Jack looked rather foolish among all these people : 
but at last he plucked up courage, and went and made 
a straightforward apology to Lady Beresford, and said 
he hoped this piece of folly would soon be forgotten, 
and that Madge would be happy after all. The sisters 
were disposed to pet him. Tom tolerated him a little. 
Then there was a general bustle, for they were all (in- 


228 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. 


eluding Frank King) going down again to Brighton; 
and they made a large party. 

How clear the air and the sunlight were after the 
close atmosphere of London ! The shining sea — the 
fresh breeze blowing in — the busy brightness and cheer- 
fulness of the King’s Road — it all seemed new and de- 
lightful again ! And, of course, amidst the general 
clamor and commotion of getting into the house, who 
was to take much notice of Nan, or watch her self-con- 
scious shyness, or regard the manner in which she re- 
ceived Frank King after his absence? You see, Nan 
was always wanted to do things, or fetch things, or 
send for things. “ She’s a housekeeperish kind of 
young party,” Tom used to say of her, when he had 
coolly sent her to look out his shooting boots. 

The spring-time was come : not only was the sun- 
shine clearer, and the wind from the sea softer and 
fresher, but human nature, also, grew conscious of 
vague anticipations and an indefinable delight. Flow- 
ers from the sheltered valleys behind the downs began 
to appear in the streets. The year was opening; soon 
the colors of the summer would be shining over the 
land. 

“Nan-nie,” said Frank King to her who was on most 
occasions now his only and dear companion, as they 
were walking along one of the county ways, “ don’t 
you think June is a good month to get married in ? ” 

“Frank, dear,” she said, “ I haven’t had much ex- 
perience.” 

“ Now look here, Nan,” he said — the others were a 
long way ahead, and he could scold her as he liked — 
‘‘you may have some strong points — wisdom, perhaps 
— and a capacity for extracting money out of people 
for life-boats — and a knack of boxing the ears of small 
boys whom you find shying stones at sparrows--! say 


“ BRING HOME THE BRIDE SO FAIRS 229 

• 

you may have your strong points ; but flippancy isn’t 
one of them. And this is a very serious matter.” 

“ I know it is,” said Nan, demurely. “ And far more 
serious than you imagine. For, do you know, Frank, 
that the moment I get married I shall cease to be re- 
sponsible for the direction of my. own life altogether. 
You alone will be responsible. Whatever you say I 
should do, I will do ; what you say I must think, or 
believe, or try for/ that will be my guide. Don’t you 
know’ that I have been trying all my life to get rid of 
the responsibility of deciding for myself ? I nearly 
ended — like such a lot of people! — in ‘ going over to 
the Church.* Oh, Frank,” she said, “I think if it 
hadn’t been for you I should have married a clergy- 
man, and been good.” 

She laughed a little soft, low laugh, and continued ; 

“ No, I think that never could have happened. But 
I should have done something — gone into one of those 
visiting sisterhoods, or got trained as a nurse — you 
don’t know w r hat a good hospital nurse you spoiled in 
me. How r ever, now that is not my business. Undine 
got a soul when she married ; I, give up mine. I shall 
efface myself. It’s you who have to tell me what to 
think, and believe, and try to do.” 

“ Very well,” said he. “ I shall begin by advising 
you to give up cultivating the acquaintance of tinkers 
and gypsies ; and first of all to resolve not to speak 
again to Singing Sal.” 

“ Oh, but that’s foolish — that is unnecessary!” she 
said, promptly ; and he burst out laughing. 

“ Here we are at the outset ! ” he said. “ But don’t 
you think Nan-nie, you might let things go on as they 
are? You haven’t done so badly, after all. Do you 
know that people don’t altogether detest you? 
Some of them would even say that you made the world a 


230 


THAT BEAUTIFUL WRETCH 


little brighter and pleasanter for tho*se around you : 
and that is always something/’ 

“ But it’s so little,” said Nan. “And — and I had 
thought of — of I don’t know what, I believe — in that 
cathedral at Lucerne — and now I am going to do just 
like everybody else. It’s rather sneaky ! ” 

“ What is ? ” he asked. “ To be a good woman ? ” 

“ Oh, you are not philosophical,” she said. “And 
me — me too. My brain, what there was of it, is clean 
gone; my heart has got complete mastery. It is really 
ludicrous that my highest ambition, and my highest 
delight, should be to be able to say, ‘ I love you,’ and 
to go on saying it any number of times. But then, dear 
Frank, when all this nonsense is over between us, then 
we will set to work and try and do some good. There 
must be something for us to do in the world.” 

“ Oh yes, no doubt,” he said ; “ and do you know 
when I think this nonsense will be over between you 
and me, Nan? — when you and I are lying dead to- 
gether in Kingscourt church-yard.” 

She touched his hand with her hand — for a moment. 
“And perhaps not even then, Frank.” 


Well, it was a double wedding, after all ; and Mr. 
Roberts was determined that it should be memorable 
in Brighton, if music, and flowers, and public charities 
would serve. Then Mr. and Mrs. Jack Hanbury were 
to come along from Southampton; and Mr. Jacomb 
had, in the most frank and manly fashion, himself 
asked permission to assist at the marriage ceremony. 
There were, of course, many presents, two of which 
were especially grateful to Nan. The first was a drag- 
on-fly in rubies and diamonds, the box inclosing which 


“ BRING HOME THE BRIDE SO FAIR.” 231 

was wrapped round by a sheet of note-paper really be- 
longing to her Majesty and hailing from Whitehall. 
These were the words scrawled on the sheet of paper : 

“ This is for the wedding of the BEAUTIFUL WRETCH, 
who has now completed the list of her atrocities by jilting 
her oldest sweetheart. — G. ST 

The second present that was particularly prized by 
Nan carries us on to the wedding-day. It was one of 
the clearest of clear June days, a fresh southerly wind 
tempering the heat ; there was scarcely a cloud in the 
blue. How these rumors got about it is impossible 
to say, but a great many people seemed to have dis- 
covered that there was to be a double wedding ; and 
there was an unusual crowd about the entrance to the 
church and along both sides of the roofed portico. 
Among these people was one who attracted a little 
mild, polite curiosity. She was a country-looking, 
fresh-complexiorted young woman, who was smartly 
dressed and trim as to ribbons and such things ; and 
she held in her hand a basket of fairly good size and 
of fancy wicker-work. And this basket, those nearest 
her could see, held nothing else than a mass of wild 
roses, all with the thorns carefully removed from the 
stems, and set in a bed of moss and sweet-brier leaves. 
It was such a bouquet, surely, as had never been pre- 
sented to a bride before — if, indeed, it was intended 
for the bride. 

That was soon to be seen. The great organ was 
still pealing out Mendelssohn’s “ Wedding March ” 
(Mr. Tom had offered to give ,£10 to the poor-box of 
the choir if the choristers would play instead the 
Swedish “ Bring home the bride so fair ! ” — forgetting 
that there were two brides, and that Edith was dark) 


2 3 2 


THA T BE A UTIFUL WRETCH. 


when the first of the bridal procession came along, 
Edith and her husband and her bridesmaids. Then 
came Nan. As she was passing, the fresh-colored 
wench timidly stepped forward and offered her the 
basket of wild roses. Nan stopped, -glanced at her, 
and recognized her ; and then, to the wonder of the 
crowd, they saw the young bride take the basket with 
her trembling, white-glovecl fingers, while the other 
hand was boldly put forward to shake hands with the 
country lass. Singing Sal was greatly taken aback ; 
but she took Nan’s hand for the briefest second, and 
managed to say something quite incoherent about 
“ long life and happiness, miss — I beg your pardon, 
miss — ma’am ; ” and then the gleaming procession 
passed on. 

Nan was very proud of that basket of wild flowers. 
She would not part with it. She had it placed before 
her on the table when all the people had assembled 
and sat down. And perhaps there was one there who, 
looking alternately at the bright-eyed bride who sat 
beside him, and at that basket of wild roses, red and 
white and pink, and whitish-red and whitish-pink, may 
have said to himself that there was no red one the e 
half so red as her lips, and no white one half so white 
as her clear and shining soul. 


THE END. 



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87. Heart and Science, by Wilkie Col- 

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88. The Golden Calf, by Miss M. E. 

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89. The Dean’s Daughter, by Mrs. 

Gore 20 

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Pickwick Papers, Part II 20 


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96. Gideon Fleyce, by Henry W. Lucy. 20 

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98. The Gypsy Queen, by Hugh De 

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99. The Admiral’s Ward, by Mrs. 

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dall Roberts 20 

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103 Let Nothing You Dismay, by Wal- 
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E. Braddon 20 

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ley Huntley 20 

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MonsieurLecoq, by Gaboriau, P’t 11.20 

115. An Outline of Irish History, by 

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117. Paul Clifford, by Lord Lytton...20 

118. A New Lease of Life, by About.. 20 

119. Bourbon Lillies 20 

120. Other Peoples’ Money, by Emile 

Gaboriau 20 

121 . The Lady of Lyons, by Lord Lytton .10 

122. Ameline de Bourg 15 


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124. The Ladies Lindores, by Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

125. Haunted Hearts, by J. P. Simpson. 10 

126. Loys, Lord Eeresford, by The 

Duchess 20 

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130. India, by Max Muller 20 

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Anthony Trollope, Part 1 15 

Mr. Scarborough’s Family, by 
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134. Arden, by A. Mary F. Roberts... 15 

135. The Tower of Percemont, by 

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136. Yolande, by Wm. Black 20 


137. Cruel London, by Joseph Hatton. 20 

138. The Gilded Clique, by Gaboriau... 20 


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Dickens, Part 1 15 

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146. White Wings, by Wm. Black. ....20 

147. The Sketch Book, by Irving 30 

148. Catherine, by W. M. Thackeray 10 


149. Janet s Repentance, by Eliot. .. .10 

150. Burnaby Rudge, Dickens Part 1.15 • 
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152. Richelieu, by Lord Lytton 10 

153. Sunrise, by Wm. Black Part I... 15 
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157. The Romantic Adventures of a 

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158. David Copperfield. Parti 20 

David Copperfield, Part II 20 

159. Charlotte Temple,. 10 

160. Rienzi, by Lord Lyttou, Parti.. 10 


Rienzi, by Lord Lytton, Part II .10 

161. Promise of Marriage, Gaboriau. .25 

162. Faith and Unfaith, The Duchess 15 

163. The Ilappy Man, Samuel Lover. 10 

164. Barry Lyndon, by Thackeray.. .20 

165. Eyre’s Acquittal, Helen Mathers 10 

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